


the room the sun and the sky

by littlelionvanz



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionvanz/pseuds/littlelionvanz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only took them a year to finally learn each other's names. Hell, better late than never right?</p><p>or</p><p>A story in which Ronan is a professional ballet dancer and Adam is just some punk with a stupid mohawk he sees sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey fams, so basically this is the ballet/punk AU that was posted as a series in multiple parts but it wasn't at all working for me!!!! 
> 
> So I'm reposting it under one fic
> 
> This'll give everyone a chance to reread (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Being on stage, for some, was thrilling. The lights, the costumes, the adrenaline of performing. For some, it was everything. It was why they danced. They loved the cheer of the crowd and idolization that came with being admired for having a very specific skill-set. For others, there was no definite all-encompassing reason. They just loved everything about it and that was okay. Those dancers tried the hardest, their lines were the longest, and they were good. Or sometimes they were shit, but hey who could fault someone for trying. 

Ronan was not one to love things blindly. He could not. Because loving blindly was stupid and frankly ill-advised and quite childish. There was much he hated about ballet; the waking up early, the long days that sometimes turned into long nights, his feet were frankly quite fucked. But more than the trivialities, he could have lived without being on stage. The great irony of what it meant to be a ballet dancer. Of course that was something he didn’t tell anyone because they would ask why he bothered dancing at all, if he didn’t like being on stage, and that would require Ronan to actually speak to them.

It was better for all involved if Ronan just kept his mouth shut. He showed up, he trained, he performed, he did not fake smiles. His skill allowed him to get away with that. He was good, even he was willing to admit. 

He also really fucking hated his company’s no-tattoo policy. That one probably pissed him off the most. He ate too healthy to be natural, all but completely forgotten what Vodka tasted like, and yet he couldn’t even ink himself, he might as well be a robot.

Ronan Lynch was nothing if not often irrational over the little things. It was something he prided himself on. Jesus, his life was rigid and tightly bound in routine and organization, he had to pick something to bitch about right? He’s had the design picked out since, well for as long as he could remember.  A massive Celtic knot taking up the mass of his back. It was supposed to honor his heritage and his father.

Declan said, “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” and something about it being a waste of money. Which of course was just the prelude Ronan was waiting for to fight with his older brother. But then getting Declan to fight back was always a fucking struggle because Declan was hell-bent on never raising a fist to Ronan. Like he was too fragile to take it and that frankly pissed Ronan off too because there were many things that he was and was not, and fragile was definitely not one of them.

But what it all really came down to, was not the stupid rules and the routines, Ronan was just _bored_.And being bored pissed him off beyond repair. Everything was the same all the time every day, even down to the boy on the bus. Same times, same stops, same shitty boots. Just looking at him made Ronan almost furious with a white sting of heat in his stomach that made Ronan clench his jaw whenever the boy clunked in with his boots and sat across from him on the city bus.

Here’s what pissed him off about this kid. Looking the way he looked, and sitting apart from everyone else, never accompanied with anyone, he had to be the real loner type. His jeans always had holes in them, his t shirts were always old and pinned together with patches and pins, his mohawk was always dyed a different color (though never styled up, always limp and laying on the right side of his face), and with too many piercings to count (though Ronan noted one lip ring, and exactly seven piercings all one on his right ear.

Frankly the kid looked like trouble. But what got Ronan is even when people whispered to their friend next to them as the boy walked past, and parents pulled their children closer, and no one sat in the two empty seats next to him, and even when some shit stain high schoolers tried picking fights with him, the boy never fought back. Sometimes he had a book to distract him, sometimes a cheap pair of headphones with something muffled and loud blaring out. He just sat there amist the looks and stares and jokes at his expense, no doubt hearing every word - if the clenching of his jaw and the grip on his backpack tightening was any indication. But this kid never fought back. Not once.

Weren't punks supposed to be violent and angry always ready to fight and even going out of their way to start shit with people?  That was certainly the case for every other punk in the city. Who did this kid think he was, being all quiet and minding his own business.

Ronan was waiting for the day someone said something to him, _wanted_ a reason to fight. The need itched beneath his skin something fierce. This kid had all the opportunity and the reason and it was just wasted on him. The ungrateful fucker.

But that was the kid from the bus who Ronan saw twice a day for five days of the week, once every Saturday morning, and none on Sunday.

Of course he wasn’t the only regular on that specific line. There were the men who worked at the factories, the cleaning ladies who brought donuts and coffee on the bus, the occasional high schooler who was skipping school and wanted to fuck about downtown. Ronan either to or from his ballet, and this kid with the fucked up hair and ugly boots who sometimes had books with him and sometimes just the jacket over his shoulders. He otherwise had no idea who this kid was and didn’t bother to ask in the year they’d made their daily voyages.

But this was his life now and this is how it had to be otherwise… well he couldn’t think of the otherwise.

 

It’s funny though how the simple repetition of life can easily be changed with one small factor interrupting it. This factor for Ronan was waking up exactly one minute late. One minute that changed everything. Of course he didn’t know it yet because one minute was not enough to cause panic and rush and be late for the day, because he wasn’t. But in that one minute, his seat on the bus had been taken that morning. Some douchebag in a suit. And that ruined everything. How dare they take his unassigned seat. There were  _rules_ okay. If everyone went around taking everyone’s seat, the whole world would turn into chaos.

Ronan pushed down the urge to say something as his face burned with frustration and quickly needed a backup plan, and preferably one in the next 5 seconds. Most of the seats were taken in that one minute, except the far back where the homeless guy sat, or one of the empty seats next to the Mohawk boy. It wasn’t hard to choose. Dude who smells like piss or or guy who probably smells like a cigarette. Well both were just so alluring.

Ronan slid into the seat next to Mohawk boy without looking at him and didn’t notice that he didn’t smell like a cigarette, which provided a small moment of relief. The boy didn’t look at him either. Today he wore no jacket, but a tank top mostly held together with comically large safety pins. It had to once be a  t shirt at some point because the sleeves were crookedly cut and Ronan could almost see the boy’s rib cage. Not that he was looking though. Same boots though, and Ronan noticed more of the details sitting this close. The laces didn’t match, both ribbon, but one was red and one was green, while the boots were a shiny black and tied tight over his jeans. The thick rubber base of them had to have been hand painted white. Even his mohawk was not a solid color. Ronan could spot missed strands of dirty blonde that matched the buzzed side of his head. It was like everything about this kid was homemade and haphazardly thrown together at the last minute, and yet crafted with purposeful precision at the same time. 

And even though Ronan was _absolutely not_ staring at him, the boy turned his head anyways and his brows were pulled together.

He spoke then, and Ronan was shocked by the voice that escaped for two reasons: One, it was the first time he’d ever heard him speak, and also, because of the _voice_ itself. He said only, “What are you looking at?”

But it rolled out sweet, and raspy at the same time, but not angry, just lazy and seemingly uninterested, just mildly curious. It was covered in an accent one only found back west in the mountains. It reminded Ronan of home and he didn’t know why.

Though much to the boy’s misfortune, Ronan didn’t like to be questioned, so he frowned and looked away, but not before making sure to roll his eyes to put an emphasis on how much he didn’t care about looking at this gutter punk. He did not answer the boy’s question either.

But now this put Ronan in a predicament because there was now about ten minutes left until his stop at the studio and now this boy was looking at _him_. Ronan kept his eyes either on the floor or straight ahead, but he could feel a gaze on him and it made his skin itch.

 _Stop stop just fucking stop_.  

Was the boy psychic or was Ronan very obviously uncomfortable because the boy turned away and Ronan exhaled. Ronan didn’t know why he was nervous, who the fuck this kid was to make him feel so. He was a ballet dancer. His job was to _perform for people_ and have his work judged constantly every minute of every day.

About two stops later he heard the voice again.

“You a ballet dancer?”

Ronan looked at him, stunned as if he’d been accused of armed robbery. “What?”

The boy gave a half smile and gestured, “I just noticed your bag.”

Of course the evidence was there, condemning Ronan. The Richmond Ballet logo, a creatively designed R in the manner of two dancers was painted largely and evidently on the black of his bag.

“How’d you guess that?” Ronan quipped back when he saw there was no mention of ballet anywhere on the bag.

The boy was quick to answer, his words smooth and sure. “I see the logo downtown, on banners. Couple times a year whenever you guys put on a show or something.”

 _Fuckin downtown banners_.

He waited for a joke, he waited to be called a fairy or _something_. That’s usually what came with the territory of someone finding out that you, a human male, dances for a living. But the boy didn’t laugh at all.  He just nodded and stared at his feet. His hands were folded neatly in his lap and his attempts at conversation dwindled when Ronan didn’t respond again.

He chewed on his lip and then almost felt bad about being rude - a feeling Ronan Lynch was almost never in experience with.

“So what do you do?” he decided to ask because it was a neutral question and Ronan almost cared to know.

The boy looked at him again, almost surprised to be asked.

“Bunch of things,” he said, again in that sure mountain-accented voice. “I work in a garage, couple times a week though, sometimes I do landscaping in the summer. Nights I work at a club, where I just came from.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for drinking?”

He shook his head and smiled a half grin that made Ronan almost scream. “No, I work nights and then help clean up afterwards.”

“Ever plan on sleeping?”

He shrugged  and Ronan rolled his eyes again. When he looked at him again, this time almost feeling like he’d been granted permission to, he did see the dark circles that sat under his eyes. They accented his sun-kissed coloring beautifully. There was freckles coming from under his tank top and across the topmost part of his bicep and that’s when Ronan looked away again. For some reason it felt wildly lewd.

Ronan’s stop came up and he stood, swinging the duffle over his shoulder. He didn’t really know what to say, so he just looked at him briefly, nodded a bit, and went to make his way down the aisle.

But when he got down the first step, he heard, “My name’s Adam, by the way.” Ronan looked up and he was sitting there, looking at him, with that little half grin half unsure.

He quickly called back, “Ronan,” and kept moving.

 

_Ronan. Ronan. Ronan._

The name echoed in Adam's head all day for some reason he couldn't shake it. It's true he'd been more than curious about learning the dancing boy's name for quite some time because well, everything about him fascinated Adam.  He didn't really know why. It wasn’t that Ronan was the most exciting part of his day, because he lived a life where potential excitement was a constant threat. On the surface there was nothing exciting about this Ronan at all, none that would otherwise interest the general passer-by.

He always looked so _angry_ , that was the first thing Adam noticed. He always wore the same sort of clothes every day - sweats, a blank t shirt, and sometimes a black pullover hoodie. Adam couldn’t make out any specific logos, but there was something about him that made Adam think that he had money, or was at least financially comfortable enough to wear the same types of clothes with little to no variation. But for some reason that didn’t bothered Adam as much as he’d expect it too.

The logo on the bag Ronan always carried was familiar and driving Adam crazy for months  before he noticed it outside the performing arts center.

Ballet. Fuckin’ ballet. That would explain the strong-looking arms and the excellent posture.

 

Adam had exactly four hours to sleep before having to go to the garage at one. Maura, his boss, had let him make a sandwich before leaving that morning so he was good on dinner until at least that night. His mattress always felt most comfortable when he was coming home after a long night - which was every night. Adam would hate the way the springs were misshaped and the dips and lumps from decades of use (not his use, but someone’s). But his body always tricked himself into thinking it was goose down when he found a position and let him sleep for a couple of hours. Or maybe he'd just grown used to being uncomfortable, as if he'd known anything else.

His apartment was hidden, tucked away at the top of a large building. It wasn’t so much of an apartment as a room with a window and a bathroom. Luckily for the owners, Adam wasn’t too picky. The rent wasn’t expensive, which was good because his jobs paid like shit. And he was only there for a couple hours out of the day anyways.

Clothes sat in random piles around the floor and only Adam could immediately tell which were dirty and which were clean. There was a careful system to the disorder. His books sat against the wall next to his bed, and they two were organized in such a way that only seemed important to Adam. Books he’d read, books he needed to read, books for research, and books for rereading. The spines were cracked, some paperbacks were missing covers, they were water-damaged and otherwise extremely old and in very poor condition. But none of that mattered. When they were given to him by the used book store across the street because they were too damaged to sell, Adam took them gladly because their appearance didn’t matter. It was what was inside those pages that counted.

He found that that philosophy could apply to pretty much anything in everyday life.

For example, Adam, for all intents and purposes, was very poor. He just was. His father was poor, his father was poor, the place they all came from was exceptionally poor, it was just a cycle. When Adam was about fifteen years old, he thought the only way to get out of that cycle was to become rich. But to get rich he needed to get a good job. For the job he needed a good degree. For the degree he needed to have come from a good enough school that would admit him to the college of his choice. It just so happened that he came from a town which housed the most destitute and the most wealthy.

Aglionby Academy was one of the wealthiest private schools on the east coast, of that Adam was sure. Boys drove foreign cars their parents bought them for Christmas, wore shirts that cost more than his entire trailer, and breezed through life with everything handed to them. For a boy like Adam, they were everything he couldn’t be. Adam applied to the school, with help of his counselor. He had kept perfect grades since the first day of kindergarten and still, upon seeing where he came from, he was denied the privilege. It was not uncommon for the wealth of his hometown to look down on boys like Adam who came from dirt poor nothing, and felt it appropriate to treat him as such. This was regardless of his good manners and perfect grades.

One short and frankly unexciting story later, Adam was out of that town and in his state’s capital city. And in this city,  Adam found himself among some of the grimiest, poorest, wild bunch of kids the state didn’t care about. Some of them were deeply intelligent, some of them hadn’t picked up a book in years, some of them were runaways, others never had a proper home to run from. But all of them, Adam found, were some of the nicest people that he’d ever met. None of them gave a shit about where you came from. If you were nice and willing to share your smokes, you were welcome.

Of course that was oversimplifying it because that’s not to say his world was void of assholes - because there would be assholes everywhere you went. But that was besides the point.

 

Adam did not own a car but he could fix up the best of them. It was a skill he brought with him from back home. He was good at fixing broken things. The work was often tiresome and sometimes boring. But it was considered a decent enough day if a customer didn’t yell him for imaginary problems.

He usually worked about six or seven hours, depending on how busy the day was, before walking back to his apartment, showering, and changing out of his dirty coveralls for his usual attire. Jeans, his boots, and a shirt that didn’t smell. Maura didn’t need him at the club until nine that night, but he always got to that part of town at least two hours early.

For one, it was hard to catch a bus that way past eight pm, for seconds, that allowed him to grab some dinner before his shift, and for thirds, he saw Ronan. Contrary to Adam’s seemingly chaotic life, he liked some order and stability. Routines. He liked knowing exactly what was going to happen in his day, he didn’t much care for surprises. But the fact of it was, he could have easily adjusted his schedule to allow himself more sleep or time to do anything else. But he was used to seeing Ronan so often and so constant, it would feel like breaking up to suddenly stop.

Which of course was stupid on many accounts because it took him almost eight months to even learn his name, much less form a sort of attachment to this boy he’s never spoken to before today.

 

Being looked at by Ronan sent an illicit thrill down his spine that made his skin prickle. Ronan had been eyeing him from the second he stepped on the bus, looking him up and down, looking away, and casually getting his gaze drift over to Adam again. If Ronan didn’t even realize it, Adam had caught on to his stares months ago. But Adam was a polite lad and felt it was pointless to call him out on it. There was something about Ronan that made Adam think he was shy.

Of course everyone kept to themselves on the bus, or to the person they were seated with, but Ronan always seemed too focused in on himself. Like he didn’t want to be bothered or seen. Which struck Adam as totally hilariously ironic when he realized Ronan was with the Richmond ballet. He always kept to himself. Except for when he was looking at Adam.

A lot of people looked at Adam. His hair, his lip ring, the loud clank of his boots. He didn’t care. Often their looks were humored or scornful. He didn’t care. But Ronan’s were never laced with cruel judgement. It was just looking. Like looking at Adam was all he was going to allow himself because talking was a step too far.

Maybe that’s why he asked him this morning and made Ronan blush so bad he thought Ronan’s face would explode from embarrassment. Adam wanted to feel bad about putting him on the spot but Roan wore a red blush so well.

There was no way Ronan the Dancing Boy was straight.

About ten minutes into the bus ride and about 57 glances on Adam’s person later, he heard Ronan’s voice.

“So what kind of club is it?”

Adam had been looking at his feet and looked up because he heard the voice but didn’t respond right away because he was unsure the voice was speaking to him.

But Ronan was and Adam bit back a smirk.

“Uh, music. Mostly local bands. Punk bands. I work the bar.”

Ronan nodded, “Would have pegged you for being in a band. Got the look for it.”

Adam smiled because he couldn’t help it. “Absolutely not,” he said shaking his head. “ ‘m completely tone deaf."

Ronan frowned a little and shrugged, “I thought singing well was the last of punk music’s concern.”

For just a brief second Adam wanted to be mad at the insinuation before he realized, well he was right, technically.

“What do you know about punk music?”

“Not much. Just shit my dad used to listen to when I was a kid. Mostly Irish bands.”

Now Adam was exceptionally curious but he kept his questions about what bands and which albums Ronan was referring to. But his stop was coming up.

“If you feel like stopping by one day, you should.” Adam said standing. “It’s the place on the corner with the green lights.”

Ronan looked out the window and he found the place Adam gestured to. He didn’t say goodbye and Adam left.

  
  


It was a few weeks since Adam invited him to come to the club. A few days since Ronan telling himself he wasn’t going to go. And one hour late getting home. He waited until Adam left and pulled the cord telling the driver to let him out and then bravely walked around for a while before finding the club Adam told him he worked at and absolutely hated himself for not going home and being asleep right that minute.

He lingered in the doorway a little, peeking inside once, just to see if Adam was behind the bar. Which he was. His blue mohawk looked green in the yellow overhead lights.

Ronan took a few solid breaths, waited for his hands to stop shaking. The music coming from inside, over the speakers, was unintelligible and loud and suffocating. But he wanted to see Adam.

Adam saw him first.

He placed two green-bottled beers on the counter for a man who tossed a few crumpled bills Adam’s way and left with them. He over up at Ronan who sat tentatively on the stool  at the far end of the bar.

“Hey look who it is?” Adam greeted warmly, speaking loud enough over the music for Ronan to hear him without having to strain.

Ronan nodded and tried to seem casual, like he hadn’t just spent the last hour building up the nerve to come inside.

“Want a drink or something?”

 _Fuck_. Why did Adam have to work at a bar.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Adam nodded, “Well you’re just in time, we got a band about to come up if you wanted to check out some music.”

“Yeah?”

“My best friend’s band actually. Her and her cousins. We don’t get many all-girl punk bands in this area.”

Best friend. Girl best friend. Ronan could take a hint when it was being slapped in his face.

The girls that came on stage did not look related, but of course Ronan couldn’t use their hair as an indicator. Everything about the quartet was loud and angry and quite colorful. They were fronted by a the shortest of the four of them. She had boots of a similar style of Adam’s, only in bright yellow. Her hair was cut quite short, like a boy’s, and shaved down one side. She was playing a guitar decorated like a Lisa Frank coloring book. It took her a minute to re-adjust the microphone to fit her height.

Ronan couldn’t make out words to their songs, but just how energized and hype the crowd  seemed to be for them. About a few minutes into the second chorus he was able to make out a rhythm and even a melody. Still didn’t necessarily like it but the eighty-something kids seemed to. Ronan looked over at Adam who was leaning over the counter and his face was lit by the stage lights casting shadows over his face. He was banging his head, his dead mohawk coming undone from its place tucked behind his ear.

Fuck he was beautiful. Goddamn it. How did he get Adam to smile at him like that.

By the end of what Ronan had to guess was six songs, the girls were still as hyped as they were when they got on stage and the crowd was screaming for them. Though put a gun to Ronan’s head, he wouldn’t be able to tell any of them apart.

Adam had to have been cheering for them the loudest and everything about that pissed Ronan off.

A few minutes later, two of the girls from the band came up to the bar. The short girl and a taller girl with long golden hair, lighter than her skin which was dark as the countertop. Up close, they still did not look related.

“Alright Parrish pay the fuck up,” The tall girl demanded taking a seat on a stool and slamming her fists on the counter.

“No absolutely not, Orla, Maura said _one_ drink per band member, not _unlimited_ drinks the whole night.”

“Oh fuck you!” this Orla had quite the mouth, “We fucking slayed up there, that deserves unlimited drinks.”

Adam rolled his eyes and smiled fondly. “Fine _two_ drinks,” Orla smiled victoriously, “But only if my friend says so.”

Adam, Orla, and Short Girl all looked at Ronan then.

“And who is this exactly?” Short Girl asked.

“His name’s Ronan,” Adam said picking up a glass to wipe off with the towel that had been in his hand. “He’s uh, new.”

Adam sat the glass down on the counter in front of Orla.

“Ronan is it,” Orla said with a piqued curiosity suddenly. “And what brings you to our shitty little abode.”

Ronan’s jaw clenched. “Invited,” was all he said.

Orla hopped off her stool and came over to Ronan’s empty side by the bar and stood too close to him. Ronan instinctively looked at Adam for help and he only smiled and started wiping off another glass.

“Now Ronan, friend of Adam’s,” she said in what Ronan thought was an attempt at being seductive. “Did you enjoy our set?”

Ronan steeled himself and shrugged, staring her straight in the eye, void of emotion. “I guess.”

Short Girl then answered. “You _guess_?”

Ronan ignored her and so did Orla. “I guess.”

Orla smiled at him. “Do you think it was good enough for two drinks?”

Ronan shrugged again carefully planting his disinterest, “I guess.”

Short girl snorted. “Did they program you without basic human opinions?”

Ronan turned to her, shrugged, and smirked- trying to lace it with as much acid as possible, “Guess so.”

Adam let out a laugh and Ronan was going to remember it forever, if he could. He was shaking his head and smiling at Ronan.

“Alright go get the others,” Adam directed at Orla who happily skipped off, but not before turning back to throw a wink Ronan’s way.

“This is Blue, by the way.” Adam gestured to Short Girl.

“What’s blue?” Ronan frowned.

Short Girl rolled her eyes. “Me, dipshit. I’m Blue.”

“Nah you look more green to me,” referencing her hair.

“Ha ha ha ha ha,” Blue’s voice was laced with exaggerated sarcasm. “You found a hilarious one, Parrish.”

“I like to think so,”

Ronan tried not to look at Adam then but it was so hard not to.

 

Ronan came to the club at least once a week and Adam was always shocked to see him come in. He was easily the plainest patron there, plain t shirt, plain jeans, plain shoes. But he really wasn’t at all. Adam couldn’t place a finger on it, but in a place where everyone strived to look different, Ronan was the most interesting person in the club.

He never drank, which at first almost bothered Adam. As a bartender, he had a skill where he could guess a customer’s drink just by looking at them. Most of the time he was right. In a frankly shameless attempt to impress him, he placed a glass of cherry coke and rum on the counter. Ronan didn’t touch it the entire night. Part of Adam was stung but it wasn’t until he realized that after a few visits that Ronan _never_ drank, that maybe he just didn’t. He probably had to keep a healthy lifestyle.

Ronan wasn’t much of a talker, which never bothered Adam. He liked having the company while he worked. Blue was around a lot too, giving Ronan shit. Adam thought for a minute that Ronan didn’t like her. But Blue was a lot to handle, so who could blame him really. But it was interesting to see them take jabs at each other.

He would stay for a few hours, say to Adam, “See you ‘round,” and drift out the door as casually as he came.

Adam was sure he was going full stalker-mode by showing up at the Richmond Ballet because no one invited him and he wasn’t even sure if Ronan would be there anyways. He tried to look as normal-looking as possible. His beanie covered his hair, he wore his work sneakers instead of his boots, and chose a shirt with the least amount of holes in it. Adam wasn’t trying to impress Ronan, he just didn’t want to bring any attention to himself or cause Ronan any problems by being associated with a walking freak of nature.

Adam smiled at a lady with a clipboard and asked in the most polite voice he could muster - suppressing as much as his Appalachian accent as he could, if she knew where to find Ronan Lynch.

“He’s with the ballet company I guess?” Upon entry, there were dozens of children running this way and that and figured they must have held classes in the sprawling studio space as well.

She directed him up to the third floor studio.

He didn’t go inside, but peeked through the window of the door. Mostly to see if Ronan was there, and he was. He was standing at a bar with a dozen other men and women. He was standing tall and straight, stretching his legs and arms this way and that, fluid and graceful. Adam couldn’t take his eyes off him for God knows how long.

Every so often the instructor, a man, could come over to correct Ronan and the others, moving his arm in a precise way, tapping his thigh and Ronan would move according to the instruction. None of it made much sense to Adam because he couldn’t notice anything short of perfection in the way Ronan moved across  the room.

His favorite parts were seeing Ronan jump in the air. He lept like it was the easiest thing. The muscles in his thighs were accented by the black tights and Adam was never going to unsee it. He lifted his female partner like she weighed nothing at all. He did turns and spins as effortless as breathing.

Adam heard all the jokes that came with being a ballet dancer. He’d grown up with it. It was girly, a bunch of other homophobic words Adam didn’t want to remind himself of. For girls it was okay. But for boys, especially where Adam came from, it was definitely not acceptable.

But Adam see any of that. He saw power and strength and pure beauty, of which Adam did not compare.

How could he?

Adam made it to the end of the hall and the first step before he heard his name.

“Adam?”

He turned to see the dancers leaving the room, they were heading in the opposite direction of him, but Ronan was coming towards him. _Shit_.

“What are you doing here?” Ronan jogged over to him, Adam could see the red of his chest blooming from under his shirt which was wet with sweat. Adam didn’t stare.

“I um, nothin’,” Adam was terrible at lying. “Was just around, thought I’d come by. Say hi.”

“Oh,” Ronan didn’t seem at all offended at the notion, but surprised.

“But you’re busy,” Adam quickly said, “So I’ll uh, see you later I guess?”

Adam turned to leave, but Ronan stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” Adam stopped and his skin was suddenly on fire from the heat of Ronan’s palm. Adam turned slightly and Ronan pulled his hand away, licking his lips, and looking at his feet. Adam didn’t see that.

“I just need to shower, I mean, if you wanted to hang out or something.”

Adam smiled despite himself. “Okay.”

 

Adam didn’t have a plan, he’d never been on a date before. No this wasn’t a date. This was hanging out with the guy he’d been crushing on for about a year. Not a date. It was awkward and Adam didn’t know what to say with him. It was easier before Adam had seen him dance. Now he was too quiet, fucking shy, of all things.

God.

They rode the bus for a few hours, sharing a giant slice of pizza because Adam only had a few dollars for one, and Ronan had left his wallet at home. They made up stories for the other passengers, and kept their laughter to themselves.

Adam loved seeing him smile. Something told him it didn’t come often. He was actually funny though, despite Blue’s sarcastic remark a few weeks ago. Pretty dark sense of humor, and a language that would rival even Orla’s. Just quiet is all.

Then they began talking.

“How long have you been dancing?”Adam said over a mouthful of pizza crust.

Ronan mulled over the question for a second before Adam handed him the remainder of the pizza.

“Since I was about thirteen or fourteen.”

“Don’t kids start pretty early?”

Ronan shrugged, “I was actually training to be a boxer. Me and my brothers. Guess I was better at the dancing.”

“Do your brothers still box?”

Ronan laughed at that, “God no. Matthew, my younger one. He was good, but he didn’t like hurting people. He wants to be a vet. And Declan,”

There was a pause and Ronan loss his smile. “He uhm,” he frowned. “He stopped when my dad died. And now he’s at Harvard Business School.”

Adam winced a little. “Shit, sorry. About your dad,”

Ronan shook his head and looked into this lap. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s been about… five years now I think?”

Adam was not going to ask how he died because he saw the way Ronan’s face darkened.

“Dad trained us himself,” Ronan then said after a brief moment. “He wasn’t a professional or anything, he was just really intent on us being, I don’t know, good at Irish things?”

Adam leaned his head against the window and looked at him. “How’d the ballet come about?”

Ronan scrunched his nose a bit. “Well, being the proud Irish nationalist that he was, he wanted his sons to be good at Irish dancing.”

Adam was smiling now. “Oh my god can you river dance?”

Ronan punched his arm with no force but his ears were glowing red. “Shut up.” At least he was smiling again. “It was only for a year and I hated it.”

“Uhuh, sure thing dancing boy.”

“Fuck off,” he said with more affection than Adam had ever heard in his life and he wanted to kiss him for it.

But when Ronan looked at him, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. They held each other’s gaze for just a moment - long one, a long enough one for Adam to not mistake its meaning. He studied all of Ronan’s features, the sharpness of his cheekbones and the way his eyelashes made his eyes seem darker than they really were. He was motionless, so perfectly still, it was as if he were carved by stone and made flesh. There was such an unmistakable beauty in Ronan that it almost pained him to breathe.

He reached a hand up to just barely touch the side of Ronan’s neck, just below his jaw and Ronan didn’t move, but Adam could feel his pulse jump. When he moved closer to him, Ronan reached a hand up to his wrist and held there.

“Don’t,” he shook his head, frowning and looking down.

Adam retracted his hand, pulling it into his lap and hating himself. Of course he was wrong for thinking it. Of course. They were barely friends let alone anything that should have made Adam think that kissing was okay.  

He hadn’t kissed many people in his life. Blue, a few times when they thought dating was an okay idea. Which it wasn’t. The kissing itself wasn’t that bad, but it was pretty obvious that they were kissing the wrong people. There was another guy at a Stone Roses concert in DC last year. His name was Tad maybe? A little drunk, obviously wealthy, but sweet.

But Adam hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone the way he wanted to kiss Ronan.

“Not here,” Ronan said quietly after a while of riding in silence. “Just not here.”

Adam looked at him, the way his eyes were cast down, the way he pulled at the skin around his fingernails, looked up to see the few other passengers, looked back to the angry red of his cheeks, and suddenly understood.

Not, “ _don’t kiss me at all_ ,” just “ _don’t kiss me where anyone can see_.”

Adam suddenly felt sick.

“I’m not a fucking cliche,” Ronan then added for good measure.

 

Ronan wanted to throw up. He wanted to throw up and then lay in traffic and then hopefully get run over by several speeding vehicles, that’s how badly he wanted to not be alive at the present moment. Adam tried to kiss him and of course, in pure Ronan fashion, he just had to go and fuck it up for no good reason. But of course there was a reason, but none that Adam could understand, surely. None that mattered now because obviously Adam hated him.

It was a little while before riding around before Adam pulled the cord and the driver pulled over.

Ronan followed him off the bus. It was dark out now, but not late.

“Wanna go to a show with me?” Adam asked, trying to sound casual. Like there was no tension.

“Sure,” Ronan shrugged because he didn’t want there to be.

 

Ronan had never been to a punk show besides the small ones in Adam’s club, where he sat away. But this was different. This was a bigger club, and the two were right in the middle of the crowd. Everyone smell liked booze, weed, and sweat. When Ronan asked about tickets, Adam laughed and snuck them in. Apparently Adam hadn’t paid for a concert since he was sixteen.

Ronan insisted on fitting in so they walked a few blocks to Adam’s apartment when they got off the bus. The place was small, hidden away in an industrial building. There was a large set of windows that took up the spanse of half a wall where Adam’s bed was. The remainder of the dimming sun lit the room in a hazing glow of orange and red. Adam didn’t try to hide how poor he was, and for some reason Ronan loved that. He didn’t care anyways. Adam seemed comfortable in this life he carved out for himself. How could Ronan not admire that.

Adam had given him one of his tank tops. An old faded black one with a cracked green and orange clover logo with the words _Flogging Molly_. “Cus you’re Irish,” Adam explained with a smile.

It hung loose on him and he was sure the shirt was twice as big on Adam. Like a few of the others he had worn, the sleeves were cut out and Ronan felt weirdly exposed. Which was very stupid because he literally wore tights that left nothing to the imagination for about 8 hours a day. But maybe it was because Adam was admiring him in it.

 

The concert was something like he’d never experienced before. Every recital, every classical concert Ronan had ever been too was always calm and controlled and proper. This though, this was dirty and violent and everything Ronan had ever wanted to feel. Adrenaline kicked in when the band did and everyone jumping and pushing and screaming. Adam was screaming lyrics that Ronan could barely hear.

He felt himself come alive and grinning more than he’d ever in his life. This was living. Pure unadulterated energy.

People were pushing into him and he pushed back but it wasn’t out of anger. At some point, Adam had thrown an arm around Ronan’s neck and pulled his body close. Ronan wrapped an arm around Adam’s middle and Adam screamed in his ear, above the band, “Having fun?”

“Fuck yeah!” Ronan screamed back. Adam was laughing, he placed a large wet kiss on Ronan’s temple and began to jump when the rest of the crowd did. Ronan joined and cheered and hollered with the masses.

By the end of it, Ronan was covered head to toe in his sweat, Adam’s sweat, and about a dozen other people’s sweat. He could barely hear anything and his voice was a little fucked. Having trained all day at the studio and then thrown himself around for two solid hours, he was achingly tired. But it was the best he’d felt in a long time.

 

They were walking back to Adam’s apartment when Ronan slung his arm around Adam’s neck just as he had done to Ronan earlier that night. Without any hesitation, Ronan pushed Adam into the nearest brick wall and kissed him hard. Adam’s hands were on Ronan’s hips instantly, pulling him full flush against him. It was just an act of adrenaline-enduced self rebellion. Acting against everything that held him back thus far. There was no thinking, really, except that if he didn't kiss Adam Parrish right at this moment, there was a 

If there were people around, Ronan didn’t see them or care. All he could focus on was the thrum of energy that coursed through his bloodstream like lightning and the feeling of Adams fingers digging in his skin and the taste of his lips.

Ronan brought his hands up to hold Adam’s face, kissing him slower, wetter, like he’d wanted to for the longest time. Adam was humming a low approval in his throat and Ronan smiled against his lips. It was all teeth, tongue, and lips melding together in slow, dangerously intimate kisses that left them breathless when they finally pulled apart.

Ronan was breathing hard when he dropped his head to rest on Adam’s sternum. Adam rested his cheek against Ronan’s head and he pulled his arms tight around Ronan’s shoulders, encasing him.

They stayed like that against the brick wall, breathing hard and holding each other. His mind was loud and and his heart beat felt like bombs going off in his ears. Ronan was shivering either from Adam or the breeze that began to chill the sweat on his skin. He couldn’t tell the difference. He wanted to stay like that forever. Or go back to Adam’s apartment. He didn’t know. 

But he knew this. Suddenly it became very clear. Ronan did not love blindly. He loved with his eyes wide open. And he was so glad he saw Adam, because frankly, he knew he was fucked


	2. Chapter 2

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Oh calm down you big baby.”

“Hey fuck off I am calm.”

“You don’t trust me then?”

“Course I do. But still.”

Ronan rolled his eyes magnificently, but Adam had his closed and didn’t see it.

 

It started off as a joke. Ronan was playing with Adam’s hair, stroking the long blue center and strumming his fingers along the finely buzzed sides. Adam was reading a newspaper, lying his head in Ronan’s lap.

He had said, “You should let me dye it,”

Adam folded down his paper to look up at Ronan who had the barest suggestion of a smirk; of course he wasn’t actually serious, but then Adam stared at him for a long moment contemplating. The day was a long and lazy one. Ronan never knew what to do with his days off. The usual hobby was sleeping, resting his bones until Monday morning. It was usually spent in boredom, not really knowing _what_ to do but also not feeling adventurous to find anything.

After a moment, Adam shrugged, and said, “Why not?”

Ronan made him promise not to look at the color he chose, even going so far as to spend about fifteen minutes in a Sally’s Beauty Supply with Ronan’s arm around Adam’s neck to cover his eyes and them awkwardly making their way around the store as Adam described the type of dye to get and the sort of bleach he would need.

The girl behind the counter just smacked her bubble gum and only looked up a few times when Adam’s laughter got loud and prayed that the boys wouldn’t break anything. But of course they wouldn’t, they were good boys.

Adam showed him how to mix the bleach and they stood together in the bathroom together for almost an hour as Ronan carefully applied the foul-smelling stuff on strips of Adam’s hair. When it came to hair expertise, Ronan’s only knowledge was how curly his grows when left long, and how to shave it all off every two weeks. No brushing, no taming, no styling. Patience that Ronan did not have.

When they were waiting for the bleach to take effect, Ronan was sitting on the toilet with Adam on the counter, swinging his legs and turning around every few minutes to check the progress in the mirror.

Ronan asked, “So why a mohawk?”

“I don’t know,” Adam shrugged, “Guess I’m making up for all the years I spent too much time trying not to draw attention to myself.”

“Shy?”

Adam made a face and thought about it, “No not that I don’t think. Just… didn’t like being looked at.”

Ronan nodded and understood. His teenage years were filled with too much turmoil and too many eyes in his general direction. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into the nearest ditch and lay there for the next five to fifteen years if it meant no one ever had to look at him ever again and ask if he was okay, and how was he holding up.

He didn’t tell Adam any of this, instead he said, “Sounds familiar.”

 

A fun-filled adventurous hour later of rushing to rinse out Adam’s hair and Ronan marvelling at all the blue washing down the sink and making Adam promise he wasn’t looking at the color concoction Ronan was putting together, Adam was laying over the side of the bath tub with Ronan squatting in the tub with his sweat pants hiked up to his knee caps.

“Okay, you ready?”

“Yeah yeah hurry up,”

Ronan turned the knob to the tub. With an old plastic gas station soda cup, he began gently pooling water over Adam’s scalp, gently massaging the color out. Adam’s eyes were scrunched together as if it was painful to him, but Ronan knew it wasn’t. He took his time, running his fingers through Adam’s hair, barely scraping his nails across the scalp. Adam was leaning into his hand, jaw clenching, lips cherry red from being chewed raw.

In the same moment that Ronan’s thoughts drifted away, thinking about how badly he wanted to kiss that mouth, it was the same moment he realized that he could - or realized that he’d already kissed Adam once, it might be okay to do it again if he was careful.

He sat the cup down after all the color was rinsed out, but still keeping a head on the back of Adam’s head to hold him up, and with very careful precision, he leaned over him. He ignored that Adam’s soaked head was wetting his shirt and was glad that Adam’s eyes were closed, or else he would have lost his nerve. He softly pressed his lips to Adam’s, with no other intention than to feel them against. It was the softest press, with Adam coming awake beneath him to smile and reach up to place his hand on the back of Ronan’s head to keep him there for just a moment.

Ronan’s thoughts drifted to the previous year when his company performed Sleeping Beauty.

He thought to towel Adam’s hair dry - Adam thought it better to just shake his head and get water _everywhere_. Ronan punched his shoulder, called him a fucking asshole, and laughed anyways.

Ronan stood in the shower still when Adam scrambled up to look at the product in the mirror.

He didn’t really know what he was expecting Adam’s reaction to be. He thought maybe it would be funny, but then right before he went to wash it out, he thought maybe Adam would hate it. He chose it because it was the only color he hadn’t seen Adam with yet.

He looked at himself, expression unreadable, and then he looked at Ronan shaking his head. His eyes fell closed with the drop of his head where he mumbled,

"You are such an asshole for this."

Ronan grinned proudly; stepping out of the tub to stand behind Adam.

"I think you look rather improved."

Adam looked up again, to the pink-ish, purple-ish, bright-as-fuck-ish hair stuck to his forehead.

“You’re a dick.”

Ronan just shrugged.

  
  


“Can you do the Dirty Dancing lift?”

“Why does everyone ask me that?”

“That’s not an answer,”

“Fuck, off.”

“Oh my god that means you totally can.”

 

Ronan was groaning but Adam was already moving his coffee/dinner table to the far side of the apartment. True his apartment was not very big, just one giant room with very little furnishings. But it was his giant empty room of very little furnishings.

“You dyed my hair fucking pink. You owe me, Lynch.”

Ronan was at the far end of the room with Adam at the other. He rolled his neck, and pulled his arms up to stretch them and Adam was temporarily mesmerized by how the muscles rolled beneath his skin. His arms were all strength and power and Adam felt shameless, needing an excuse to be held in them. For a brief moment he allowed himself to be pathetic.

He and Ronan were… something. They’d kissed a little, here and there. But it had been weeks since the concert where Ronan pushed him against the wall. Adam thought for days after, that he was just adrenaline-rushed, as most people were always pretty hyped afterwards. If Ronan didn’t want to kiss him again, that would be fine. He liked being with him regardless.

But their kisses, all few, and gentle, and secret as they were, always left Adam wanting and wanting and _wanting_ him.

“Fuck, okay so just run and jump okay,” Ronan instructed steadying himself, “I’ll catch you.”

 _Yeah you better_ , Adam definitely did not say.

“Alright alright,” Adam said getting into position, “One, two-”

On three he made a dead sprint for Ronan, leaping nearly onto his chest with an _oomph_! and was immediately sure that they were going to go toppling backwards. But Ronan’s hands found Adam’s hips and with a single flex, lifted Adam above his head. He braced himself on Ronan’s shoulders, trying his best to keep his legs as straight as possible.

Ronan was lifting him so easily, as if Adam weighed nothing - which of course was not entirely far from the truth. Adam didn’t really eat much.

Adam stared down at Ronan, keeping his hands firm around his upper arms and Ronan was staring back at him. He felt completely weightless and breathless and utterly fucked.

Ronan slowly turned them around in a circle, obviously to demonstrate how easy this was, before turning Adam upright and holding him against his chest. Adam’s hands were still on his shoulders and there it was, one of those moments they were constantly finding themselves in lately. Tense and too quiet and the air singed with electricity and obvious need and _way_ too much staring to be considered legal. But then one of them, usually Ronan, would find a way to end it. This time by setting Adam down gently onto his feet, and then looking at his and then to the wall, and the out of the window and saying:

“There, happy now?”

 

“Favorite animal.”

“Ravens.”

“Seriously? Okay Edgar Allen Poe.”

“Hey fuck you, ravens are awesome.”

“Favorite piece of music.”

“ _Liebestod_ , by Wagner.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s from _Tristan und Isolde_. It means love and death. It’s the finale, with Isolde singing over Tristan’s dead body.”

“Sounds fucking depressing.”

“Okay what’s your favorite piece of music.”

“ _Ceremony_ , by New Order, but the original sung by Ian Curtis.”

“Didn’t he kill himself when he was 23?”

“Shut up.”

 

Ronan sat in front of Adam’s record player. Attached were a pair of old studio headphones. Adam was determined to make Ronan listen to _Ceremony_ because Adam had never heard _Liebestod_ and Ronan was making him listen to that via his phone.

When Ronan slipped the headphones around his neck, Adam was putting the earbuds in.

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to listen to it,” Ronan assured him quickly. “Opera isn’t for everyone.”

Adam rolled his eyes and pressed play.

Ronan flipped the switch on the turntable.

They both closed their eyes.

Adam imagined finding the one he loved dead. He imagined it all going wrong and this was a final lament. The German singing was agonized and pained by all she’d lost. The piece was gorgeous, though he had no words to comment on why specifically - he had not idea what notes were used or the technicalities. He imagined Ronan dancing to a piece like this. He would be beautiful, for that he was certain. He suddenly felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach - that here he was listening to a piece of sophisticated opera. Ronan had probably seen dozens of them. Had the deepest and upmost respect for them, and Adam was making him listen to a shitty record in a messy apartment with no A/C. Ronan was better than this.

The music was recorded hastily, scratchy in a lot of places. The music, as upbeat and seemingly pleasant enough, revealed its true self through Ian Curtis’ macabre voice singing about how he fucked up something. He didn’t know why this was Adam’s favorite song. If he just liked it for the way it sounded or if the words held a deeper meaning. Was Adam hiding a more secret pain inside him? A guilt over something? Ronan always felt that Adam was in control of things. His life and everything in it was his own. Maybe he was just good at pretending.

 _Ceremony_ ended before _Liebestod_. Ronan pulled the headphones down to watch Adam who had his chin braced in his hand and eyes were closed.

He was almost embarrassed by asking him to listen. What guy would honestly give a shit about opera besides Ronan, especially a guy like Adam. But he insisted, curious about why it was his favorite. If Adam hated it, it wasn’t going to be the end of the world. Ronan was still going to love it. He almost wanted him to hate it, just to be relieved in proving himself right.

He could just barely hear it through the headphones and closed his eyes, remembering his last recital before coming to Richmond. The last one his father had seen. It had been set to this song. He can still remember the routine perfectly and how bright the lights were. There was even a standing ovation when it was over, but all Ronan cared about was his father’s smile that said, “I’m proud of you.”

He did not receive it. His father hated Wagner.

At the final crescendo, he heard Adam take in a large breath, almost a gasp.

When it was over, he looked at Adam who was staring at his hands. When he looked up, pulling the buds out of his ears, Ronan noticed how full his eyes were. Adam sniffled quickly and brought the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,”

Ronan bit his lip and tried not to smile.

 

Near dusk, Ronan fell asleep on Adam’s bed. He was lying on his stomach, arms folded beneath him. When Adam realized he was asleep, the snoring being the dead giveaway, he went to sit out on the balcony. He didn’t know if it was _Libestod_ that was making him feel sad, but he couldn’t stop thinking about when Ronan was going to come to his senses and stop wasting his time with Ronan. They weren’t really _anything_ , but that Adam was sure. He hated obsessing over things, over thinking them and making himself crazy.

The sun was hanging low in the sky, basking Adam in its orange warmth. He wished he knew what Ronan saw in him. They got along sure, but Ronan could have found that anywhere? He was nothing special, just Adam. He felt himself ashamed by all that he was which was a feeling Adam _promised_ himself he wouldn’t allow himself to feel. Not since his father went to prison, not since he left that shit-hole of a trailer.

What could he offer Ronan? He wasn’t cultured. He didn’t know the first thing about music or ballet or anything that mattered to him. He worked jobs where he was mostly just paid under the table by shady bosses that almost always cheated him because what else could he do?

Wherever he went, his father's gaze followed. Robert Parrish was locked up in prison, but he cast a large shadow. It was his greatest shame to date. He carried his father’s scars, his father’s hick accent, his father’s poverty. He couldn’t fucking shake it.

Adam made himself promise that when this was over, when Ronan realized that Adam was nothing special beyond a simple distraction, he wouldn’t be angry with him. He would let him go and that would be that.

 

Ronan woke with a start- sweating and tense. He forgot for a moment whose bed he was in. Awareness began to prick at his nerves but he felt frozen in place. He shouldn’t have been here, that’s what everything in his body was screaming at him. This was _wrong_ , this was not how things were supposed to be. Not that Ronan had a clue at how things were _supposed_ to be, but he was sure there was something against sleeping in other boys' beds.

His mind was racing with panic because this was absolutely not done where he was from. Ronan kept rushing to the thought of wondering if his father knew, or if Declan knew.

No. Dad was dead. Declan is in Boston.

Ronan hated himself for feeling so guilty because he objectively knew that they’d done nothing wrong. He hated himself for going almost an entire day not feeling guilty enough.

But mostly, he hated himself for burying his face in Adam’s pillow and inhaling so deep that he almost could feel him in his bloodstream. He could feel Adam’s breath on his lips, his fingers on Ronan’s neck. He rolled onto his side and brought his knees to his chest.

What was happening to him.

 

Ronan remembered at the last minute, honestly. Adam of course was panicking.

“Come on, they’re just my roommates, not my parents.”

“Yeah but it feels like it though.”

“Would you just calm down?”

“Why did you dye my hair pink and _then_ invite me to see your friends?”

“It was fucking _blue_ before I didn’t think it would matter. Would you stop being such a pissbaby and come on?”

Adam made sure to roll his eyes in an over the top fashion before being pulled upstairs to Ronan’s industrial complex apartment. Apparently his friend Gansey, because of course his name was Gansey, bought out the whole building. Because of course he did.

He didn’t want to judge anyone, but when Adam saw the bright red Mustang in the parking lot and the bright orange Camaro, he couldn’t help it. They were rich and Adam was impossibly on edge.

The apartment was probably bigger than his his entire building. It was one giant shared space with bedrooms that used to be offices, judging by the layout. Not that Adam had been in many office buildings.

Adam was alarmed at how messy it was. Not necessarily dirty, just massive stacks of books and magazines and trinkets of this and that scattered about.

“Gansey,” Ronan called out before shutting the door behind Adam.

Adam was fidgeting. Ronan placed a hand on his shoulder to subdue him.

A remarkably perfect-looking young man appeared out of one of the back rooms. He had golden swept-back hair, khaki shorts, and a perfectly crisp polo shirt that screamed vacations in the Hamptons and a trust fund bigger than the Virginia State lottery.

Last Adam checked, the Powerball was just over a hundred and fifteen million dollars. So no that didn’t make him feel better.

He quickly approached them with a smile that could blind a man and instantly reached out for Adam’s hand.

“You must be Adam Parrish,” he looked  Adam in the eye, which was incredibly unnerving, “We were starting to believe Ronan had made you up.”

Ronan made an embarrassed noise but Gansey continued on,

“But no, seems he was right about you - even down to the… Wait Ronan you said his mohawk was blue.”

Ronan shrugged. “I dyed it this morning.”

Gansey smiled again. “Well excellent color, Adam. Are you hungry, Noah should be back soon with pizzas and-”

“Gansey,” Ronan cut in, “You’re gonna scare him off.”

Gansey frowned apologetically, “Sorry, please come in though.”

 

Noah returned shortly after with two pizzas, just as Gansey promised. He was more relaxed around Adam which was a massive relief to Noah. He didn’t need all of his friends being a serious freakshow around Adam.

They ate with barely any talking besides the questions Gansey threw at Adam - _Ronan_ knew he wasn’t trying to seem invasive, it’s just Gansey’s naturally inquisitive nature to know everything about everything. But _Adam_ had only known him all of fifteen minutes.

Spikes of irrational jealousy poked at Ronan’s spine when Gansey so carelessly asked about Adam’s homelife - territory Ronan hadn’t been brave enough to venture into just yet. Where he grew up, what his parents did.

Adam always looked at Ronan first before answering with selective honesty.

His accent, however, was carefully clipped and diluted and something about that bothered Ronan too.

“My mom was a um, stay at home mom. My dad worked at a sheet metal factory.”

“Super small town back in Shenandoah Valley.”

Noah just asked about the buttons on Adam’s jacket which he was clearly more happy about answering. There was a story behind each one. Who gave it to him, how old he was, what concert. Adam wore all his stories on his body like treasures. Ronan was proud of that because Adam was.

After they finished eating, and Adam thanked Gansey for the meal, he seemed more relaxed. He couldn’t wait to ask Gansey about all his books and Gansey was more than excited to show them. Ronan relaxed on the sofa with Noah while they disappeared to the otherside of the room.

“Uhoh,” Noah said sarcastically, “Better be careful, looks like Gansey’s making moves to steal your boyfriend.”

Ronan mindlessly reached over to hit Noah with the back of his hand. Not enough to hurt, but Noah dramatically held his arm anyways.

“Shut up no he’s not. And no Adam isn’t. “

“What, in love with Gansey or your boyfriend.”

Noah was itching for a beating.

“Both.”

Noah laughed softly. Ronan knew he was joking. He was the only one he’d told about liking Adam more than just friendship. Gansey just knew him as Ronan’s friend.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Gansey, it was that Gansey was too close to family to make it easy to admit that he had a crush on anyone - much less a punk guy he met on the bus. Gansey would be too overly accepting and happy and would want to talk about feelings and Ronan was just not up for it.

Noah guessed the second Ronan mentioned Adam - because Ronan didn’t even talk about members of his ballet company, much less strangers that intrigued them. Ronan simply nodded when Noah asked if he was into him and Noah said, “Cool,” and that was that.

He watched Gansey and Adam together, sprawled on the floor, exchanging books that held little interest to Ronan, but that Gansey had red a dozen and a half times. He had graduated two years early to study archeology and Medieval history at Georgetown and then quietly settled back here in Richmond to study myths and legends because that’s what Gansey did and because he could.

Noah smoked pot through college, but he’s pretty sure he was pretty sure he was on track to graduate. “It’s theater,” Noah explained, “Talent requires no certification.”

All three of them came from money but that’s not why they were friends, it just happened that way. He watched Adam and Gansey being friendly and hoped Gansey wouldn’t care if Adam was poor, or that Gansey was rich.

“What do you think,” Ronan asked after a long moment.

“I like him.” Noah liked everyone. “He’s obviously too cool for you,”

“Shut up,” Ronan hit him again.

“He’s got _buttons_ on his _jacket_ , Ronan. And _PINK_ hair. You don’t even have hair, how are you supposed to keep up with that?”

Again, Ronan knew he was joking, but how was he? He didn’t know anything about his music or appreciate the history of it, or how to change a flat tire, or how to make a table, or anything about classic literature. Or nothing that actually served any use to anyone. He danced ballet. Whoopee.

 

Around ten pm, Adam really did have to go. He surprisingly had a good time with Ronan’s friends.  He even liked Gansey who had the most interesting collection of well, everything that Adam had seen. He’d been reluctant to see Adam go, and made him promise to come back to hang out. Adam was so weirdly taken with Gansey that he had to say no. No one like Gansey had ever wanted to speak to him, well besides the guy from last summer.

Guys like Gansey, with boat shoes and perfectly coiffed hair only came around guys like Adam if it involved fixing their cars at the garage, or if they thought they could score coke off him.

They didn’t even keep alcohol in the apartment, which Adam felt weirdly endeared by.

Ronan borrowed Noah’s mustang to drive Adam to work, only because Gansey was dangerously protective over the Pig - the affectionate nickname he gave his car.

It was only a quick drive over to the bar, which Adam easily could have walked once he realized which side of town he was on, but Ronan insisted.

He drove the nameless Mustang like he owned it and he almost wanted to ask why he didn’t just drive this to and from the studio, but didn’t.

There was a small crowd outside the club that night which wasn’t out of the ordinary for a Saturday night. Blue was probably covering for him until he got there which meant he owed her one. There was a part of him that needed to rush to get inside, but there was another part of him, the part he listened to, that wanted to stay in the car just a moment longer with Ronan.

Ronan killed the ignition and everything fell weirdly quiet, even though there was tons of commotion outside.

“So I liked your friends,” Adam said suddenly nursing a small stomach ache.

Ronan nodded. “Yeah. I think they liked you too.”

Adam began to chew on his lips because and was very irrationally angry that there were so many people around the car because he wanted to kiss Ronan but he knew Ronan didn’t kiss where people could see. He settled for placing his hand on Ronan’s over the gearshift. The back of his hand was smooth with the finest hairs. He traced his thumb over the vein that ran up to his middle knuckle.

He felt Ronan tense when Adam traced his fingers over Ronan’s, slotting them between his. His breath went shallow.

It felt like kissing.

Slow, tender, intimate touching with prickled skin and held breaths. Adam wanted more.

It felt like more than kissing.

Adam kept his touches featherlight and just barely there, tracing the over every line and bone of his hand. If he could only give Ronan this, he would. If Ronan wanted soft and gentle, he would give him only this. He promised that from skin to skin.

Just as Adam was about to open his mouth to say something, there was a loud bang against the back of the car that shook them. Adam whipped his head around and groaned. He pushed open the passenger door to inspect the damage.

A pack of douchebags on skateboards were hysterically laughing and incredibly drunk. One of them was picking up a skateboard from under the Mustang.

“Hey what the fuck?” Was Adam mostly just pissed that his moment with Ronan was ruined? Possibly.

The guy waved him off, “Oh bitch calm down.”

Adam heard the other door open and close, with Ronan coming to the back of the car to stand by Adam. He looked  at the back of the Mustang to see there was no damage.

“Everything alright, Adam?”

Adam rolled his eyes, “Yeah it’s fine. It’s just-”

“Kavinsky.”

Ronan had answered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan didn’t want to talk about it, not here, not at all. He wanted to ignore it and forget it because those were two skills he was very proficient at. It been almost two weeks since he’d last seen Adam. Since that night outside Adam’s job and he’d seen Kavinsky too. But Gansey didn’t know that part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for impied/referenced drug use, alcohol use/alcoholism, and suicide attempt

“Thought I’d find you here,”

Gansey’s voice was just under a whisper, cutting through the hollow emptiness of the cathedral. Ronan didn’t turn to see him come in, but slid over just the barest amount to let him take the empty space in the pew.

“You used to come here a lot,” Gansey then said. “Well not _this_ one, but the one like it back home.”

“Yeah it was the only place I could be alone,” Ronan’s tone was blunt and could wound the average person, but Gansey wasn’t average. He just rolled his eyes and nudged Ronan’s arm with his.

“Gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Ronan didn’t want to talk about it, not here, not at all. He wanted to ignore it and forget it because those were two skills he was very proficient at. It been almost two weeks since he’d last seen Adam. Since that night outside Adam’s job and he’d seen Kavinsky too. But Gansey didn’t know that part.

“What’s there to tell,”

He heard Gansey click his tongue. “Don’t give me that. One minute you’re happy with Adam, the next you’re ignoring his visits and calls?”

Ronan rolled his eyes and began to pick at the leather binding of the bible that sat in the pouch in the pew in front of them. “You make it sound like we were-”

“Dating?”

Ronan looked at Gansey and felt the blood drain from his face. He’d never told Gansey. Never thought there was _anything_ to tell. And yet, the possibility of him knowing anything, made him want to vomit.

He waited to see Gansey’s face turn to something smug and disgusted. But all he got was a small sympathetic smile. He screwed his eyes shut and willed himself not to cry. Not in front of God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mary. He would not cry because of this.

“We’ve been friends for about as long as we’ve been alive,” Gansey said softly, “Did you think I wouldn’t have picked it up eventually?”

Ronan felt his insides churning and his flesh beginning to itch with the need to tear it. But this wasn’t simply his normal self with too much untapped energy and a need to expel it. This was something, something he fought daily to suppress. He was ashamed.

“How long did you know?” he asked, not adding _that I’m gay_ because it still felt too soon. His head was slumped down and looking at Gansey felt like exposure he wasn’t ready for.

Gansey answered, as he managed everything in life, effortlessly. “Three clues,”

Ronan braced his elbows on his knees.

“First, since you were like thirteen you’ve danced with some of the most beautiful women-”

“Calling thirteen year old girls beautiful? Okay freak.”

Gansey shoved him, “You know what I mean, you ass. Women that most guys would kill to be with, and you’ve never talked about a single one of them to me or Noah ever.”

Lame reason, but he wanted to hear Gansey’s next piece of evidence. He wanted to know how much of his overpriced education went into dissecting Ronan’s sexuality.

“Two, while never talking about girls _literally ever_ , there was that one time we had the fridge replaced. Remember? The mechanic with the tattoos?”

Ronan looked up and thought for a moment. Gansey continued. Fuck, he remembered that guy. An accent like Adam’s, quite attractive, and his shirt rolled up to his forearms and Ronan was uncomfortable for the whole day.

“You literally stood in your doorway and _watched_ him for like ten solid minutes. Does Adam have tattoos? Hey! Maybe you have a type?”

Ronan let out a small laugh and punched his friend for making him laugh when he wanted to sulk. How did Gansey always do it? Even when Ronan was in the shittiest mood, Gansey always managed to somehow pull him out. Sometimes overbearing with advice and a need to fix, and sometimes with just love drives into the country and matching cartons of orange juice. Sometimes Gansey was his dad and sometimes he was just his friend and sometimes he managed to be both, whether Ronan was willing to admit he needed it or not.

“Alright genius so what’s your last piece of expert evidence for the jury,”

“Oh that one’s easy,” Gansey declared with just the tiniest bit of dramatic flair, “You look at Adam like I look at first-editions. You’re completely in love with him.”

It was weird hearing Gansey say it like it was something glaringly obvious - and hell maybe it was. And he noted that Gansey didn’t say it like it was the punchline to a joke. One, because Gansey  was terrible at jokes, and two, because Gansey didn’t joke about serious things. He declared it in Ronan’s preferred place of worship so definitively and easy because love was supposed to be. Apparently.

But that didn’t stop Ronan from almost wanting it to sting. He wanted to feel justified in letting it eat at himself, if someone else told him it was something to feel ashamed over.

There was a moment of silence between them but it wasn’t awkward because over the years, the pair managed to perfectly cultivate silence without it getting weird. They sat there for a while, Gansey stretching his legs and admiring the impressive stained glass windows and Ronan sitting perfectly still with hands folded, silently wishing his father didn’t hate him. And if he was, for forgiveness.

“You know,” Gansey said after a while. “I don’t care.”

Ronan looked him in the eye then, seeing his love pour out.

“I’ll never care what you are, Ronan. I just want you to be happy.”

In a single smile and a nod, Ronan said _thank you, thank you,_ and _I love you._

 

He urged Gansey to talk about other stuff now, and boy did he. Richard Gansey III had an ability not many people possessed. And that was to make even the dullest subject seem exciting. He could make the most devout unbelievers follow him anywhere, Ronan as one of them. During their youth, Gansey managed to get Ronan to look for buried treasure, to go on an archaeological dig in north Africa, they even spent a whole summer break trying to find the location of the final resting place of a dead king called Glendower. These were the things Gansey loved: Histories, myths, and the potential for a storybook adventure with his best friend.

He believed in Arthur Pendragon and his knights, secret Viking maps, Achilles and the Battle for Troy, the lost city of Atlantis, El Dorado, the disappearance of Welsh kings and secret pirate treasure. But most unbelievable of all, he believed in Ronan Lynch too.

And for that, Ronan hated lying to him. So when Gansey went back to his original question, about what happened with Adam, Ronan couldn’t lie to him.

“I saw Kavinsky again,”

Gansey was stunned, and naturally so. He was the dark stain on Ronan’s past and wanted nothing more than to rip out those pages out and burn them. Just mentioning him in Gansey’s presence made him feel awful. He was so careful about keeping every aspect of his life secret from each other. He didn’t tell Adam about his past, he didn’t tell Gansey about Adam, and he didn’t bother telling Joseph Kavinsky that he was even alive.

“ _Joseph_ Kavinsky,” Gansey said slowly.

“Unless you’re familiar with another one.”

“Well did you talk to him?”

Ronan shook his head. “It was that night Adam came over and I took him to work. I just left and I haven’t seen him since. Adam doesn’t know,”

“Ah, and you’re scared that Adam will find out-”

“That I can’t remember an entire year of my life because all I did was pop pills and drink like a fucking fish with over a dozen speeding tickets and DUI’s?”

“I was _going to say_ , had a colorful past,”

“Oh yeah we can’t forget me overdosing and being in a coma for a week,”

Gansey cleared his throat and shuffled. Ronan usually wasn’t so blunt with him, but Ronan was feeling anxious suddenly. His teeth were on edge and his leg couldn’t stop shaking suddenly. Gansey, sensing that Ronan was about to pounce, moved to face him, leaning against the pew in front of them, blocking Ronan from leaving.

“Ronan, you know _no one_ blames you for what happened after your Dad died,”

“That doesn’t change that it _did_ , Gansey, and Kavinsky was a blatant fucking reminder of that. I don’t want _any_ of that shit in my life anymore, Gansey and I never wanted Adam to know about it either. By now I’m sure Kavinsky’s told him everything. But of course painted this elaborate fucking story about how we were madly in love and it was this _us against the world_ bullshit, even though all we did was race cars he stole and get high as fucking kites.”

Ronan was breathing hard now and he brought his hands to cover his face. Gansey waited a moment until he’d calmed himself just a minute, he didn’t often get worked up like this.

“Why are you so scared of Adam knowing about your past, Ronan? It’s in the _past_ , it can’t hurt you.”

“Because my past _does_ hurt me Gansey!” He hadn’t meant to shout, but the feeling in his chest made him feel like his lungs were about to burst.

“And I don’t want Adam to know me as that.”

“What, someone who’s hurt?”

Ronan shook his head and his eyes were stinging. He was hearing his best friend’s words and knowing they were making logistical sense, but he couldn’t make them stick and he felt like everything inside him that he’d managed to keep perfectly under wraps was all coming undone inside him.

He couldn’t do this. He wanted to see Adam. But he didn’t want Adam to see him, that was the problem.

“Ronan,” Gansey’s parental voice was on now, “You’re probably the strongest person I’ve ever met. And you’re a survivor. You could have went the same route as Kavinsky, but you didn’t. And if Adam can’t appreciate that, then he isn’t worth it.”

Gansey reached his arm over Ronan’s shoulders and Ronan realized that he hadn’t allowed Gansey this privileged in too long, so he settled into it until his shoulders slumped and he was at least partly calm now.

“God alright calm down Dad.”

Gansey clicked his tongue again, “Hell I wish, maybe then I’d actually be able to claim you on my tax write-offs.”

Or maybe Gansey could joke.

 

There were two solid knocks on the door that made Adam jump. No one came to his apartment besides Blue, and Blue never knocked. He scrambled up to the door, but cautiously, and eyeing the locks to make sure they were secured in place. He grabbed the baseball bat that was behind the door and held the electrical-taped handle of it, ready.

“Who is it?” he asked softly, speaking through the crack.

“Me,” the voice said even quieter. “Ronan.”

Adam unlatched the locks, sat the bat down, and opened the door without question - even though he was _technically_ still mad at him. He had to keep reminding himself of that, no matter how bad his chest ached when he saw him standing there. He was wearing his normal black sweats, a similar black hoodie zipped up, and the _Flogging Molly_ shirt Adam gave him.

“May I come in?” Ronan then said when Adam said nothing. He stepped aside, setting the baseball bat down, and let Ronan in.

“Planning on using that on me?” Ronan then said, eyeing the bat and smiling a little. “Probably deserve it.”

Adam didn’t know what to say - what _could_ be said. He just kept remembering Ronan speeding off in Noah’s Mustang. And that was it: it was like Ronan didn’t exist anymore or didn’t want to see him.

“Look,” Ronan said then, turning away from him. “I just-”

“Don’t Ronan,” Adam blurted out quickly.

Ronan turned and looked at him, furrowing his brows. He’d obviously not counted on Adam interrupting whatever speech he obviously had prepared.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he continued. “You don’t owe me one or anything, it’s cool, I get it.”

Adam decided it exactly one hour after Ronan left, after he stopped complaining to Blue about it. He resigned himself to it. He would force himself to be okay with it. He folded his arms and made himself look Ronan in the eye.

“I had a feeling you weren’t really into… whatever this was. So really, no harm done.”

A lot of harm done actually, but none that he could blame Ronan for. Adam knew he was expecting too much. It was the same problem he had with Blue, but this time it was real.

Ronan shook his head and took a step towards him, “No, Adam-”

“It’s okay Ronan! You don’t want to be with me _I get it_ ,” his face was beginning to burn. “You don’t have to explain it.”

Ronan took another quick step forward and before Adam could react, had brought his hands to cup Adam’s face and brought their foreheads together. Adam stopped breathing.

“Would you stop _talking_ , you asshole,” Ronan whispered, closing his eyes.

Adam pushed his forehead against Ronan’s, “Hey don’t call me an asshole.”

“Well you fucking are right now and I’m trying to pour my goddamn heart out,”

Adam pulled back just a bit to look at Ronan, bringing his hands up to his arms. Ronan was breathing in a way that gave Adam the impression that he was counting the breaths.

“I wanted to say,” Ronan started again, “That I’m _sorry_. This isn’t… _easy_ for me. And I’m a fucking _mess_. I have no idea what I’m doing because I am a terrified asshole.”

Adam rested his forehead against Ronan’s again, making their noses touch. He could hear Ronan’s breaths beginning to waver as his thumbs grazed over his cheekbones. Suddenly Adam began to feel terrible, and something else.

Ronan pulled back just barely, dropping his hands to Adam’s shoulders and taking another solid breath and exhaling slowly.

“That guy, Kavinsky,” Ronan began to explain, “He and I used to be friends, if you could call us that.”

Adam knew Kavinsky. He was one of the more prolific dealers of the area. Maura was constantly running him out of the club and cops were constantly on the prowl for him. He was flashy and arrogant and grotesque and didn’t care who he dealt to: kids, pregnant girls, anyone. You could hear him and his pack of most loyal followers coming from a mile away and everything about this over-priced attire and foul language made Adam itch to punch him square in the mouth.

He tried, so very hard, not to take what Ronan was saying to heart. Of course he had different friends before Adam. Of course he didn’t think it would be Kavinsky of all people. The thought of those scabby skeletal fingers touching Ronan made his whole body tense with anger.

“My dad died when I was sixteen and I stopped dancing for a while because I just fucking couldn’t do it. I somehow became friends with Kavinsky. He partied and drank and… we did a lot of pills, I don’t even know it’s all kind of a blur. It was a really fucked up period of my life. I mean I'm clean now, have been clean for years.”

“Can I ask,” Adam tried to keep his voice even, “Were you guys ever um, together?”’

Ronan shook his head furiously at that. “No, he wanted it, I just wanted,” What did Ronan want?

“I just didn’t want to feel anything.”

The level at which Ronan’s voice dropped made Adam’s heart fall. He’d never heard him sound so utterly vulnerable and sad. He gripped Ronan’s arms just a little tighter, so Ronan knew that he was there.

“Ronan, how did your dad die?”

He looked up at Adam, eyes fallen, reddening and brimming, and Adam hated himself for asking it.

“He was killed by someone he pissed off. I found him in the driveway beaten to death. I know he wasn’t perfect or anything, but he was my dad, you know?”

“Jesus,” Adam pulled Ronan to his chest, holding him. It was the first time they’d hugged and after a moment, Ronan’s strong arms engulfed him clutching to him with dear life. He didn’t know what it was like to love a father. His own was the biggest waste of human life there could have ever possibly have been and Adam honestly didn’t know if it would ever be possible to miss him if Adam had found him beaten to death. He might have sent the culprit a thank you note.

But Ronan was just a _kid_ , a traumatized kid who, from what Adam could gather, never learned to grieve. He hated this for him. But then Ronan said something else Adam altogether didn’t know how to handle.

“I tried to kill myself, Adam,” He said muffled into Adam’s shoulder.

Adam pulled back the barest amount, “What?”

Ronan wasn’t looking at him. “Maybe I didn’t realize I was doing it at the time, but it was only a matter of time before it happened.”

Adam waited and Ronan counted a breath again and then looked Adam square in the eye. “The last time I saw that _motherfucker_ , was on security footage of him dumping my body out of his car and driving the fuck away. I overdosed, and he just _left me there_.”

Adam was in shock, that Ronan was confessing this. But he was not surprised at Kavinsky’s actions. He would sell his own mother if it were to save his own ass. He wouldn’t be surprised if that happened too.

“I’m so sorry Ronan,” what else could Adam say? What does one say when being told something of this magnitude.

Ronan shook his head, “It’s okay, “ Adam absolutely doubted that, “I just wanted you to know.”

Adam knew then what he wasn’t a thousand percent sure earlier - that he could trust Ronan Lynch. That he _wanted_ to trust him. Ronan came to him and trusted him with something that was eating away at him and all Adam could do was stand in open arms and admiration because what strength it must have taken to come here when he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to ask for Adam’s forgiveness because there was nothing to forgive.

They stood there for a long while, Adam holding him in his arms feeling Ronan’s steadily decreasing breaths against his collar chest. He felt Ronan begin to slowly collapse into Adam and it felt strange because Ronan was all power and strength, Adam was led to believe. Here he was now, folding himself into the arms of a spindly boy. It made Adam feel more powerful than he had any right to be.

It was several long minutes later before Ronan pulled back. “Can we start this over?”

Adam offered him a smirk, “Yes, but can we skip the months of awkward not talking to each other and skip straight to kissing?”

Ronan grinned then too and waited for Adam to kiss him. Their kiss began as it usually did. Slowly, tentatively, innocently. The most gentle nips of lip-flesh and flicks of tongue. But then Adam brought his hands up to Ronan’s face, and when Ronan didn’t pull away or tense up, he opened his mouth more and made their kiss slow and open, wet and electrifying. It was Ronan’s moans that Adam felt buzzing through him that set him off, that made him crave more. His blunt nails moved to scratch at Ronan’s buzzed scalp and that made him moan again.

When they finally pulled apart, they were breathless, just barely swaying side to side.

“I missed you asshole,” Adam admitted because it was true.

Ronan, fist full of Adam’s hair, kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

 

Blue tried to pretend like she wasn’t in some way curious - but Adam knew she was, even if she kept asking why it was even important that she even meet Ronan’s friends.

To which Ronan would quip back with something like: “You can stay your midget ass home,” and that would be another five minute bitching contest between the two that was getting rather old for Adam.

The reason, Adam explained to Blue the first time, that he wanted her to meet Ronan’s friends was because they were all friends in some way or another, and it didn’t make sense for Ronan’s closest people and Adam’s closest person to not at least be familiar with each other in some way.

Then followed a joke about marriage and in-laws and how Blue wasn’t ready to be a aunt, etc etc.

And so here they were now, following Ronan up the steps of the warehouse they called home to the loft apartment at the top-most floor. He could feel Blue brewing beside him, ready to make some comment about their wealthy, ready to hate anyone she was about to meet.

It wasn’t that Blue Sargent was necessarily a spiteful or angry person by default. Blue came from a similar stock as Adam did: working class, shat out by the public education system, and frankly really fucking annoyed with the pompous fuckin’ elite of the Virginian Upper Society, as she so frankly put it. To be fair, she did work for a summer as a nanny to a very wealthy family who required her to wear a uniform, and as Blue told Adam, “It felt like 1954 I really feel like I went back in time to when I wasn’t  allowed to be a person,”

In any case, she was sure that Blue would like Gansey and Noah.

Or at least Noah.

Shit.

This time Noah was the one who greeted them, as weirdly buoyant and chill at the same time as when Adam came over.

“Holy shit your hair!” was the first thing he said to Blue, taking her hand to shake it.

She pulled back viciously. “What about it?”

“It’s amazing, you and Adam have to do mine, would you?”

Blue smiled and Adam felt the tension deflate a little.

“Okay I like this one,” she admitted. Unlike Adam the first time he came over, Blue wanted to show off how different from them she was. She wanted to show them that she was proud of who she was and that she wasn’t going to dull herself down for their benefit. She wore bright barrettes in her even brighter hair, walked with an unapologetic stomp in her boots, even added spikes to the elbow patches of her jacket.

Blue Sargent didn’t care about making people comfortable or otherwise and it was something Adam always admired that in her.

Just as Adam was about to ask where Gansey was, there he was sitting behind the desk. He was wearing glasses that Adam hadn’t remember him wearing last time. He stood suddenly upon seeing them. Ronan was closing the door, Noah was asking Blue about all the different scribblings on her jacket, and Gansey was smoothing back his hair and taking off his glasses.

Holy shit, was he _nervous_?

“You must be Blue!” he said, coming from around the desk, stepping over a pile of books. He strode quickly over to them, “I must admit I thought Adam was lying when he said was actually ‘Blue’.”

Blue squinted and clenched her jaw, “Why would he lie about my name?”

Gansey quickly saw the error of the comment, “Oh no please don’t take it as offense! I just meant, it’s uncommon to find color related names these days.”

“Okay what about violet?”

“Do they not mostly constitute as flowers?”

“Still a color and a name.”

Gansey smiled with all teeth, “I suppose you’re right. My name is Gansey.”

He extended his hand to her and she smiled back, “Rhymes with pansy,”

Ronan and Noah both snorted and Gansey’s eyes widened.

Blue took his hand to shake back, “Like the flower.”

That was Blue’s way of joking back and thankfully, for Adam anyways, Gansey thought it was funny too.

Adam thought it was funny how quickly Gansey and Blue managed to drift off on their own, him regaling her similar stories and book recommendations that he’d given Adam as well. But what almost prickled him about it was that while he and Blue were dating, he constantly tried to get her to read this book and that - never showed the slightest interest.  But Gansey had a way of explaining it better, made her interested in things Adam hadn’t been able to do.

Gansey excitedly began setting aside a stack of books that he was going to loan her, the absolute _must reads_ , as he put it.

Adam was not looking forward to to carrying them home because he knew Blue would make him and he would.

In return, Blue made a list of albums (most of them were albums that Adam owned or loaned Blue and never returned) that Gansey just _had_ to listen to.

Adam made a mental note to make fun of her later because she’d never been so excited to be friends with anyone so quickly.

There were a few moments when Adam and Ronan thought they might have been arguing and in need of pulling apart, Ronan reasoned that that might actually be how they were flirting. In a weird very _them_ sort of way.

“Do you think they like each other?” he asked Ronan, who was holding Adam’s hand on the sofa, strumming the veins and smoothing over the skin.

Ronan looked at them, when he was looking at Adam.

“Jealous?”

Of them? Not necessarily. Of how quick it was for them, yes. Where was the awkward silence and not talking phase? Adam felt duped. Maybe he and Ronan were just idiots.

Instead Adam made a face, “Obviously,” he felt Ronan’s grip tighten and he tried not to smile, “She broke my heart you know?”

Ronan shifted beside him, “Did she?”

“Trampled all over my poor heart,”

“Have you recovered?”

Adam shrugged and made an ‘eh’ face. Ronan hit him on the leg and called him an asshole.

Noah, never one to be left out of any interesting conversation decided to interject Blue and Gansey’s when all Adam and Ronan did was slump on the couch holding hands and whispering too close to each other. Adam wanted apologize, but Ronan said, “Wanna see my room?” and he forgot everything else.

Ronan’s room was, well, just a room. A bed, unmade, books on a shelf, a hamper of unwashed laundry, several overworn pairs of ballet shoes, framed pictures of him Gansey and Noah when they were younger as well as other boys Adam hadn’t seen before who must have been Ronan’s brothers, talent show trophies, and a frayed Irish flag hanging from the closet door.

“What time does the club usually close?” Ronan asked, and Adam pretended not to notice him closing the door behind them.

“About three,” he shrugged. “I usually clean up for about an hour and sleep upstairs in Maura's office for a while.”

“Why don’t you come here after?”

Adam bit down a smile. Ronan asked it so seemingly careless and nonchalant but Adam saw the way his fingers pulled at the end of his shirt and the way his eyes darted around the room. Ronan sat on the bed, which was pushed against the wall, and Adam sat with him.

“Sleep on the couch?” Adam asked, knowing full well what Ronan meant.

“Or here,” Ronan shrugged, “But whatever.”

Adam couldn’t exactly explain why he got such a kick out of seeing Ronan blush. Maybe it was because undisturbed, he was so stoic and masculine like still water or a mountain. To see him falter and made nervous by some backwoods punk like Adam like ripples in a pond, it sent a particular brand of thrill up his spine. It made Adam feel like he had a winning hand in this game.

“How do I know you don’t snore?” Adam asked, only half serious.

“How do I know you dont?”

“What if you steal all the blankets and I have to kick you onto the floor?”

“Oh yeah good fucking luck with that.”

“Oh no what if you’re a _cuddler_?”

Ronan rolled his eyes, “Come on Parrish what sort of establishment do you think I’m running here? Think I invited you here to _cuddle_?”

“Right of course this is purely a serious business arrangement.”

“Better not come between me and Jesus.”

Adam couldn’t take how serious Ronan’s voice was and burst out laughing then. Ronan tried to hold his straight serious face for as long as he could but he faltered soon after.

He laid back, resting his arms on his stomach and watched Ronan follow, their foreheads almost touching. Ronan reached up, bringing his inner arm to rest on top of Adam’s hands, slowly moving his fingers up his chest to run the back of his finger against Adam’s chin.

Adam tried and failed to suppress a shiver and coursed through him from the spine up, making him close his eyes and focus on that single microscopic touch of skin against skin.

As Adam made Ronan nervous, Ronan in turn made Adam so very weak.

Adam had experienced every sort of physicality there was to feel, from soft touches to punches in the mouth. Broken bones and bruising kisses.

But it was this type, soft and fragile as a butterfly’s wings, that undid him. For the longest time, and sometimes even now, Adam didn’t know that these sort of touches were possible. For years it was all bruised and broken and battered and bashed. It was fearing any sort of contact at all because it all hurt in some way. And then it was forcing himself to find some good out of it and not let his father have ruined everything for him, which worked. But it was the newness of how Ronan touched him. It was the same way Adam touched him in the car. Adam hadn’t realized how much he liked it until he was on the receiving end of it

Ronan’s fingers found his lips, traced around them, causing Adam’s mouth to open just slightly. The more erotic part of Adam’s brain waited for them to dip into his mouth just slightly, but instead they moved up and down his cheek and further up to the buzzed side of his head. His body was like a live wire. He didn’t care that their friends were out there, he wanted Ronan to touch him all over. He could spend days like this, subject to one small caress at a time.

He wondered distantly, if this was the first time Ronan had ever touched anyone like this. He didn’t want to ask.

Ronan’s other hand came to rest on the far side of Adam’s hip when he felt him turn onto his side. His lips followed and Adam never tired of being kissed by him. He reached up to hold Ronan’s sides, feeling his skin raise and prickle when Ronan’s lips moved away from his mouth and gently pressed against the underside of his jaw.

Adam was on fire and Ronan was fanning the flames.

_BAM BAM BAM_

Ronan broke off for a second and groaned, Adam shared the same sentiments.

“Hey stop having sex for a second,” _Fucking Noah,_ “We’re going to get pizza want anything?”

He looked at Adam and raised an eyebrow, inquiring. Adam just smirked and shook his head.

“No,” Ronan called back and not breaking eye contact, “Fuck off!”


	4. Chapter 4

Adam Parrish was _not_ nervous. Sure he kept checking the clock every 10 minutes and wiped down the same glass five times, and tried not to move too much so he didn’t get sweaty and gross cus he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have had time to shower later and his stomach was rolling like a million tiny hammers were deconstructing his organs, but he was absolutely not nervous.

He did not get nervous.

“Oh my God,” and here came Orla, “I have never seen Adam so nervous in my life.”

Blue laughed and Adam rolled his eyes. “Shut up, I am not.”

Blue, who was behind the bar with him pouring a patron a shot of whiskey begged to differ. “He’s going to see _Ronan_ tonight.”

Orla began to giggle something high pitched, brutally annoying, and all-too knowing.

“Aww look at him Blue!” Orla leaned far over the bar, “He’s blushing!”

Adam Parrish also did _not_ blush. His face and ears were just brazenly on fire.

“Hey order something or fuck off would you?” Adam snapped but that just made Orla grin more.

“Are you guys going to exchange I love you’s?”

“No!” Well he said that just a bit too quickly, “It’s not even like that. He just offered to let me crash at his place when I got off work since it’s closer than mine.”

He could hear Blue rolling her eyes. She exchanged the whiskey for a the near-empty bottle of bourbon.

“Right,” she said way too sarcastically, “So if I said ‘Hey Adam I’ve got your shift covered, you can go’, you wouldn’t be out that door in twenty seconds?”

Adam nodded spitefully just to prove a point, but that offer was really tempting and he almost wanted to be pissed off at her for dangling it in front of him.

The next few minutes passed without conversation as customers in packs of threes and fours demanded attention and complicated drinks. It was good having Blue behind the bar with him; she moved fast and could keep track of prices and drink counts of the more unruly customers. And people seemed to like her, even though most didn’t believe that she was old enough to serve alcohol anyways.

When the bar cleared again and it was just Orla, she wasted no time before verbally harassing him again.

“So how big is his dick? I’m so curious.”

Adam could have chugged an entire bottle of fireball whiskey right there.

Instead he shrugged, not feeling the need to dignify her invasive questions with an answer. Even though it got him wondering the same and he really hoped Orla didn’t see him blush again at that thought.

“Wait,” Orla sipped her appletini that Blue made for her, “So you guys haven’t had sex yet?”

This time Blue, ever the traitor, leaned over to her cousin to whisper, “I think Ronan’s a virgin.”

This seemed to further delight Orla endlessly. Adam slammed down a glass a little too hard on the counter, no longer finding the conversation funny nor amusing. Blue at least seemed to take the hint to get back to work and to stop being a complete thorn in his side. At least for the time being.

When he began wiping down the far end of the counter, he saw Orla hop off the stool and come over to him.

“What now?” he snapped just a little bit too defensively. To be fair he was both agitated and nervous and tired of being here.

Orla threw her hands up, “Hey antsy-pants, I just wanted to say sorry. You know I love busting your chops.”

It was true, he did. But it was because he lost his patience with her so easily that fueled her on. On any other night and with any other subject of amusement, Adam could handle himself perfectly fine. Why was this getting to him so much?

“Hey lover boy,” Blue came over and snatched the rag out of his hands. “Why don’t you call it a night?”

Adam looked  at a clock, there were still three hours left before his shift ended. He wanted to. He really did. But would that make him seem eager?

“What,” he said folding his arms, “And leave you alone with Orla?”

“Hey!” she tried to reach over the bar to punch him, but he instinctively stepped just out of reach.

“I’ll be fine,” Blue said picking up where Adam left off with the counter. “I’ll tell my mom you got sick or something.”

Adam rolled his eyes and gave her a look - a silent thank you that she accepted because they didn’t share words to express actual feelings with each other. Sometimes they were awful at communicating, but sometimes, when it really counted, they weren’t. It was one of those moments where Adam was reminded that they _were_ better friends than dating. It also helped that her mother was also his employer, so he was kind of like family anyways.

When he circled around the bar, trying not to walk too fast, he heard Blue call:

“Say hey to Gansey for me would you?” Trying to sound so casual.

Adam grinned shaking his head, “Gross. Absolutely not.”

Blue smiled at him and gave him the finger.

 

Not three blocks away, Ronan was… well not really _pacing_ , but unable to sit still. He got up three times to get a glass of water, making him have to piss twice. He brushed his teeth twice in the last three hours. Took a very long shower. Changed his sheets. Rearranged his pillows. Moved all the clutter on the floor into the closet in one disorganized pile.

Gansey and Noah were politely ignoring him.

He still felt like a caged animal. His entire body was brimming with energy and _possibility_.

Ronan generally hated surprises of all kinds. He liked knowing when and how things were going to happen so he knew how to react in advance or change the situation or avoid it entirely.

He didn’t even know if Adam was coming over, the invitation was pretty open ended. He thought he made himself plain the other day - when they laid on his bed in the sunlight and touched and kissed. And it was nice, the nicest thing Ronan had experienced with another person. But lately he felt himself wanting more and thinking about Adam more often than should be considered appropriate.

Ronan felt late to the metaphorical party - was this how it was all the time with people they liked? Thinking about them all the time, not even in a sexual way, but  in the general way of that other person just constantly plaguing their thoughts and them not even hating it?

When he was at the studio, he thought about Adam watching him dance - how he would want him to. To feel his eyes on him. He wanted to show Adam what he could do.

When he made breakfast, he wondered what Adam’s favorite type was. Did he eat breakfast or did he just wait until lunch?

When Ronan showered, he wondered what sort of soap Adam used - but the of course that always led to thinking about Adam showering… naked and wet.

God, now he was just psyching himself out.

Ronan Lynch didn’t get nervous about anything but he was now. Was he even ready for this or was he just scared? Liking Adam was easy because Adam was easily likeable. This was different, the idea of doing _things_ with him made Ronan sweat. It seemed ideal for a moment until he realized he had no idea what he would do and the whole thing would be awkward and weird and the thought of it embarrassed Ronan to the point of wanting to vomit.

Was it too late to cancel? To rescind the invitation? To bat-signal his boy…..fr..i..en..d ??? that he was too fucking awkward and scared shitless so it was better to just pretend Adam never met him and save them both the trouble.

No, he didn’t want that. He wanted to see Adam. He wanted Adam to open the door, climb into Ronan’s bed and even if they just slept, that would be enough. Just to have Adam there with him would be enough.

Finally around midnight, he decided that maybe he should have tried sleeping because he would literally drive himself insane sitting up until three am on the off chance that Adam did actually plan on coming over.

He stripped off his shirt because it was too hot and laid over his covers with his arm thrown over his eyes. The way his fingers incessantly drummed over his chest made Ronan realize that sleeping was absolutely _not_ going to happen.

But it was only a few minutes later that he heard the front door creak open and close with a quiet click.

He knew it was Adam and waited for Noah or Gansey to say something. His stomach lurched and his heart ached when slow steady footsteps crossed the not-far distance from the door to Ronan’s room.

When the knob of his door slowly began to turn, Ronan sat up, suddenly regretting not wearing a shirt. Fuck it too late now.

Adam peeked in, quietly, to see if Ronan was sleeping. He smiled when he saw otherwise. He closed the door as quietly as he opened it.

“Thought you didn’t get off work til later?”

Adam shrugged, sliding off his leather jacket and folding it once to lay on the arm of Ronan’s desk chair.

“I’m faking sick,” he said smugly. Ronan bit down a smile.

Adam moved awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to say or do with his hands. He stood there for a moment and his hesitance calmed Ronan a degree.

When Ronan sat up fully, bringing his legs up to let Adam sit, he suddenly didn’t feel scared anymore. He wanted this, whatever it was. He didn’t care. All of his sense of doubt and insecurity always seemed to melt away with the sight of Adam’s high cheekbones and the sound of his warm-as-a-summer-breeze voice.

The mattress dipped with Adam’s weight and Ronan felt himself leaning towards him- gravitating to him. He wasted no time scooting closer and placing a hand on his jaw to turn Adam’s face towards him. He moved in Ronan’s palm with ease.

This kiss was not one of the gentle ones they’d so perfectly mastered. Ronan couldn’t help the fire that began to burn in his chest and the need to taste all of him. Adam must have felt the same because he immediately opened his mouth to welcome tongue and lips.

Adam turned so that he was facing more of Ronan, bringing his hands up to his chest, pressing into the hard muscle.

Once it started, it was easy. Somehow Ronan forgot how easy it was being with him. How he loved the taste of his skin, the sound he makes when Ronan held his jaw just-so. It reminded him of their first kiss, when for just a single moment, Ronan let himself forget everything and just _kiss him_. He felt that here now, that there was nothing to be afraid of. That kissing him, feeling the slide of tongue against tongue and hands on skin, was too good and too right.

Adam moaned into Ronan’s mouth, the vibration hitting him in the throat, and it made Ronan bold.

He placed a hand on the heat of Adam’s bulge and ground his palm down and then up with the curl of his fingers around the bulk of him. Adam moaned again, something high and wilted. He broke off the kiss and brought his hands up to cup Ronan’s face and shuddered, dropping his forehead against Ronan’s. Adam’s mouth fell open as the hand on him became ceaseless and the warm panting breath that tickled Ronan’s lips made him drunk.

As Adam moved his mouth to Ronan’s jaw, just barely grazing the bone with teeth and lips, Ronan felt himself shaking. Adam was reducing him to rubble, but he wanted so much more. He allowed himself a brief moment of pride for finding Adam’s button and zipper and undoing them with a fluid, beginner’s luck.

He was less sure of himself when his fingers reached the waistband of Adam’s boxers. For a brief moment he caught Adam’s eye and felt a gentle moan in approval against his skin.

He was awash with insecurity and doubt, a thousand and one thoughts flooding him at once about being wrong about this, about it being too rash and too sudden and _inappropriate_.

But he pushed all that down and forced himself to instead focus on how _good_ Adam felt, flush against him, lips on his skin, panting with need and want because of _Ronan_. It was such a powerful drug.

Adam’s back arched tight when Ronan snaked his hand down and wrapped around his dick.

“God _yes_ , Ronan, _yes yes yes_.”

Adam was shaking against him, head dropped down to the crook of Ronan’s neck where the shoulder met. He made his hand steady, thumbing over the ruddy hot head and twisting his wrist just-so that made Adam’s breath come quicker and his nails just barely dig into the skin of Ronan’s neck.

After a moment, Adam brought a hand to Ronan’s wrist. “Wait, wait,” he was panting, “Not yet,”

For a second Ronan was confused, but then Adam was pushing him back. Ronan fell easily and readily allowed Adam to climb over him. He pulled Adam against him again, pushing their mouths together in hot wet kisses that threatened to steal the breath from their lungs, but oh they were desperate.

Ronan let his legs fall open so that Adam’s narrower hips fit easily between them. He bunched his hands in Adam’s shirt, wasting not a moment to begin pulling it up and off.

He wrapped an arm around Adam’s bare back and smiled at the surprise _Oomph!_ he made when Ronan easily flipped them over and quickly set to pulling Adam’s jeans off. He sat back on his haunches and admired Adam laying flush against his pillows, breathing deep and eyes dark - a vision he’d long had for weeks now come true.

And suddenly, with all the rushing, Adam was naked before him and all Ronan could do was stare. He seemed skinny, but the skin of his stomach was taut against muscles that were crafted from labor with a dark trail of hair extending from his belly button to the darker thatch of his dick. Dark freckles littered the spanse of his chest and his shoulders were broader than he thought they would be. He was beautiful, truly. All the voices from the time he  was small filling him with the all-consuming shame that would otherwise have Ronan hating his heart, he suddenly couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything besides their breathing.

Ronan placed his hands on Adam’s thighs, spreading his fingers around the muscle and rubbing them up til he reached his hips. His eyes followed his hands to memorize every spanse of skin with touch and sight.

That’s when he saw the strange looking marks on his side- he touched the skin, the wound was old.

“It’s nothing,” Adam said, sensing Ronan’s concern. “An old accident.”

For some reason he doubted it-

When Ronan looked at his stomach, his chest, and the inside of his arms, _really looked_ , Adam was littered in long -faded scars that made something in his stomach turn just this side of sour.

He’d been too quiet, staring at Adam, that it startled him when Adam suddenly pushed himself upwards, legs wrapped around Ronan’s middle, chest-to-chest, and Ronan held him in his lap, with Adam's arms draping over his shoulders. Ronan's hands were spread over the dips and curves of Adam's back. Though Ronan was still clothed with thick cotton sweat pants, their cocks were pressed together, heat searing between them, barely moving together. Every sensation sending sparks like lightning through his nerves and coiling hot in the pit of his stomach. Adam had to have been feeling it too as well, if the small hitches in his breath were anything to judge by. His head became so full with the sensation of being so close.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Adam’s voice was low and warmed Ronan’s stomach.

Ronan looked down and away, shrugging, “You, mostly. This.”

Saying it, in truth, embarrassed him. But that wasn’t all. He was thinking about everything he shamed himself for thinking of when he was younger - those desires that haunted him in the form of vague dreams of touches and kisses and waking up sticky panting, and insomniatic. And here Adam was, as beautiful as he was, literally in his arms, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He was hesitant, afraid. Frozen.

But then he looked again at the spanse of Adam’s skin and something hurt him once, and that knowledge was eating at him for some reason, though it didn’t seem to phase Adam at all. Like he had somehow become used to it, this pain, whatever it at been.

That’s when it hit him - that during all this time of loving Adam Parrish, he barely knew him at all.

“Adam,” he said sternly, “Where did you get these scars.”

Adam shifted in his lap and looked away. He shook his head, “You aren’t really one for dirty talk are you?”

Ronan looked at him and wasn’t smiling.

Adam rolled his eyes, “Does it matter? Now of all times?”

Did it though?

Adam placed a hand on his jaw and brought their lips together, but just barely touching. He said with a whisper of breath, “Don’t wanna think about that right now.”

He kissed Ronan, softly.

“Just you, _please_.”

Ronan let him kiss his lips again, soft as before, and coaxing. Without thinking, he let his fingers ghost up Adam’s spine to cup the back of his neck and hold him there. Adam moved up, shifting his legs to push himself on his knees. This only made their dicks rub together in one long pull, and Ronan arched into it, needing to feel more.

Adam’s mouth became pliant as Ronan took control began kissing him fuller, deeper, and wanting. He smelled like warmth from the sun, tasted like remnants of apples, and began grinding against him like it was a sin not to.

Adam wasted no time pushing Ronan backwards, and smiling at the noise of disappointment Ronan made when Adam pulled off.

Ronan focused his gaze up to Adam’s dark, hazy eyes. The pink of his hair fell forward and tickled his forehead.

“You know, you’re real beautiful, Ronan,” Adam said dipping down to press a kiss to the base of his throat.

For some reason the compliment made Ronan squirm.

No one ever said that _he_ was beautiful.

 _What beautiful lines. What exquisite technique_. Never, Ronan - a beautiful person. He honestly didn’t know how to react besides scrunching his face up and hoping Adam didn’t see it.

“Whatever you want,” Adam whispered then against the underside of his chin. Ronan almost wasn’t sure that he’d heard him. “I’ll give you anything.”

He knew what he wanted, but couldn’t find the words to say it. He knew the images, so vivid and real, that came to him at night - but didn’t know how to make it known to the boy who was giving him permission to ask. Words were lost on him and all Ronan could do was touch.

Adam’s hips pressed against Ronan, making Ronan instinctively press up. Adam was rubbing himself against the thick cotton of Ronan’s sweatpants, and just as he was beginning to curse himself for still wearing them, Adam reached to the front for the drawstring. It was probably not necessary to undo the knot, as they were loose-fitting on Ronan anyways. But he pulled the string, with a kiss pressed to the tender skin of Ronan’s throat. He was teasing him and Ronan couldn’t stand it.

Ronan wished he didn’t see Adam lick his lips as fingers curled beneath the elastic of the band. With the initial tug, Ronan lifted his hips, and this time it was Adam who stared at Ronan’s naked form.

Ronan was far from vain. He saw his muscles as necessities. Tools in order to perform his trade. Rarely anything to marvel at, as his profession employed dozens of other male bodies all cut the same. But Adam didn’t get any of that. Ronan’s skin began to prickle as Adam, almost _hungrily_ , lowered himself to Ronan.

He thought perhaps for another kiss; it had only been a moment, but he was missing the taste of Adam’s lips already. He was in this so bad.

But instead Adam lowered his head to Ronan’s chest, right in the center below the hollow of his throat, and kissed him there. He looked up at Ronan, who was truly deeply mesmerized. Adam was braced on his hands and knees, trapping Ronan beneath him - but Ronan didn’t feel trapped. He felt weirdly secure. A feeling so foreign he almost didn’t know how to describe it.

Adam was kissing all over his chest and he felt dizzy.

When his lips and teeth reached Ronan’s lower stomach, he couldn’t help the laughter that ripped from his chest, instinctively contorting his stomach.

“Fuck fuck, sorry,” he said quickly, placing a hand where Adam had kissed.

Adam looked up at him, smiling, baring his teeth. “Ronan Lynch are you _ticklish_?”

Ronan shook his head, biting his lip. He felt stupid for smiling so giddily.

“You sure?” He placed another kiss just above his belly button, just enough to make Ronan jump a little and choke down another laugh.  “Seem pretty ticklish to me.”

Ronan closed his eyes and breathed in deep, bringing his arms up to rest behind his head.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, no longer able to look at Adam. He was so hard and so very desperate for something, he thought even the slightest touch would ruin him, and Ronan chose to save himself from potential embarrassment.

Adam laid his cheek on Ronan’s stomach, ignoring Ronan’s very blatant erection that was pressing into his collarbone.

He turned his head so that his chin was just barely pressing down into the muscle. “What are you sorry for?”

Ronan let the honey-soaked voice coat the silence and he said the words before he could stop himself.

“I’ve never done this before,”

Adam shrugged a little, “So I guess wild kinky sex is out of the question for now?”

Ronan’s ears burned hot but he managed to laugh anyways. It made Adam smile.

He closed his eyes and brought his forearm to cover his eyes. After a moment, he felt fingers gently stroking his jaw, nails just barely scraping against the stubble of his chin. Ronan’s mouth fell open with a slight gasp and he tried not to close his lips around the finger that traced them.

“You’re so nervous,” Adam whispered. He kissed Ronan’s bellybutton and he shivered. “I promise we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Don’t wanna freak you out just yet.”

Adam stoked the prominent veins of Ronan’s forearm. He didn’t think he was nervous- frankly he thought he was doing okay. Sure he was too embarrassed to speak at the moment for his voice was probably wrecked and nothing even really happened yet. He couldn’t.

When Adam wove his fingers through Ronan’s, he allowed his hand to be pulled down. He willed himself to watch as Adam held his hand like a gentleman, kissing each knuckle and pressing his warm lips to the inside of Ronan’s wrist. He was shaking even worse now and he knew Adam could tell.

He pulled himself up and Ronan came up a little with him, leaning on his forearms.

“Turn over,” Adam told him and Ronan didn’t know how to deny him anything. He rolled over, feeling the cold air hit his back. And then Adam’s lips. They lingered over the nape of his neck, just where the hairline ended. Ronan felt Adam’s nose nuzzling in the finely buzzed hairs of his head before placing a kiss at the space above his shoulders.

“Just relax,” Adam whispered, breath hot on Ronan’s back.

And then there was kissing. And massaging. And touching. And moaning. Well the touching and kissing coming from Adam, the moaning coming from Ronan. Adam was marveling over him, dipping his tongue into the dip of his spine, allowing his fingers to spread and press of the muscles of his shoulders.

Adam came up for just a moment to whisper in Ronan’s ear, “You’re so beautiful I can barely stand it,” before allowing his teeth to pull against the sensitive cartilage.

By now Adam was fully pressed against him, arms encasing his to entangle their fingers. Ronan was arching, half grinding into the bed, half grinding against the erection that was pressed most profoundly between the cheeks of his ass. Nestled there, but not for a purpose.

Adam moved his lips to Ronan’s neck, to bite and kiss and reduce Ronan to a shaking, moaning, highly embarrassing mess. His head was so crowded and overwhelmed with the simple sensations of being touched that he didn’t even realize how close he was to coming. He didn’t care. Adam began to suck on the pressure point of his throat, as he thrust harder against him, groaning with the spread of Ronan’s legs.

The idea of being fucked had only just crossed Ronan’s mind and he realized immediately that not only would he not mind if Adam wanted to, he wanted it. He wanted to feel Adam consuming him, inside of him, holding him, giving Ronan pleasure as he sought his own. He wanted Adam to have all of him. His dick twitched and began to bead drops of come that puddled where he ground hard into the mattress.

He suddenly felt wild, turning his head and reaching behind to grip Adam’s, to kiss him deep and hard. Ronan gripped Adam’s hair and hoped he didn’t pull too tight but that only made the man above him thrust harder, rubbing against a more sensitive spot and Ronan gasped a moan so light he almost didn’t realize it was him. Adam took it with a smile, nipping his lips and slowed.  

“That feel good?” Adam said reaching down to hold Ronan’s hip and with excruciatingly slow precision, rubbed his cock where Ronan gasped again. Ronan quickly nodded, swallowed thickly, and willed his eyes open. He was still holding Adam’s hair and Adam was smiling. Dark eyes seemed darker, Adam’s heavy breaths teasing Ronan’s lips.

God he wanted Adam to fuck him so bad he could barely think straight.

Adam pushed off him, straddling Ronan’s ass and holding his hips down. Ronan screwed his eyes shut waiting for anything, everything. And then there was tongue again, Adam was licking his back again, following a trail down his spine, letting his lips catch and drag.

And then before he could register it, there was the wet press against him so sensitive and perfect he nearly jumped. Adam huffed a laugh, taking Ronan’s ass in his hands and massaging the tight muscle.

“Jesus fucking goddamn Christ,” Ronan was shaking all over, trying desperately not to come. He was on fire.

Adam licked him again, Ronan could feel his smile as his tongue flicked over him and coaxed more obscenities out of him.

He couldn’t help moaning, coming out of him wet and half muffled by his arm. Surely there would be bite marks there. He was burning, every inch of him raw and hot and sparking. He wanted to tell Adam how much he loved him, how beautiful and perfect he was, how much he adored him and wanted all of him. But he could barely string together two words that weren’t either “Fuck” and “Jesus.”

Ronan had never been touched like this before, so _worshipped_ before. He’d never been given anything like this before purely for his benefit, for his enjoyment, to make _him_ feel good. And that’s what Adam was doing. He was just trying to make him feel good, relax. To let go.

And so he did.

His orgasm came with no buildup, no warning, no time for Ronan to tell Adam. It just came swiftly with a shock to his core, a tight arch of his back, and a whine into the chewed up skin of his arm. He was shaking violently, ears flooded with static, his dick pulsing beneath him. Adam’s licking of his ass slowed as Ronan melted into the mattress, heaving breaths. He brought himself back up to kiss his back again, his shoulder, Ronan’s closed eyelids, his cheek. And finally his lips.

Adam laid on his side facing Ronan, wrapping himself around him.

“I didn’t think guys actually did that,” Ronan breathed.

Adam chuckled lightly, “You seemed to enjoy it,”

Ronan buried his face in his arm again, burning at phantom impression of Adam’s tongue making his brain scream. How could he focus on anything ever again with that being his first sexual experience. Ever. How could anything top it.

Adam kissed his cheek again, hugging him closer. He hoped he wouldn’t saying about how quickly Ronan came. Instead they just lay there, Ronan unfolding his arm to wrap drape over Adam’s back. He could feel his heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm and it grounded him. Made him want to focus on nothing else forever, if possible.

Before he fell asleep, which was a steady and gradual descent and never in his life so easy, he heard Adam whisper, “I love you,” and prayed to God he didn’t dream it.

 

Morning came sweetly, with a soft bed and a strong body holding him. Adam blinked a few times looking around Ronan’s room in the bright morning light. Ronan was breathing softly against his neck, nose pressed against the crown of his head.  They were both naked, with barely enough energy left from last night to pull a cover over them let alone worry about clothing themselves.

Though it seemed that once you’d given someone a rim job, the time for shame in nudity seemed a little pointless.

God, he couldn’t believe he actually did it. He thought maybe a blow job or a hand job or something simple. How desperate for Ronan’s attention was he? It wasn’t until he saw how beautiful Ronan was, did he feel the unnerving need to impress him. He always found himself half feeling unworthy of Ronan- so beautiful and serious and powerful. Who was Adam to claim any of that for himself?

Just as he began to luxuriate in the feeling of Ronan pressed against him, he felt the body behind him begin to stir. His hand pressed against Adam’s stomach as Ronan yawned a sweet, content sound. Adam pressed back against him smiling.

“Morning,” Ronan whispered, kissing the space just behind Adam’s ear.

Adam’s chest began to flutter with how gentle and soft Ronan was. Not wound up and tense and hard like usual.

“Thought you weren’t a cuddler,” Adam said rubbing his foot against Ronan’s.

“I’m a man of contradictions, Parrish.” That was certainly true.

Adam couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d been so comfortable in his life. Often times he found it impossible to sleep in beds that didn’t belong to him with people he barely knew. So many times he felt so unwanted all he could do was steal away in the dead of night with a sloppily written note of apology and some of his dignity left in tact. Adam sometimes felt like he came into the world unwanted and unneeded, an inconvenience. He never wanted to linger for too long, put anyone out of place. Even if that meant leaving home at sixteen and skipping from house to house until finding his own private hovel to live in. Out of the way.

Perhaps it was a lonely existence, but it’s easy to not think about it until you _are_ wanted. Adam didn’t realize how attention and love starved he was until Ronan simply looked at him and all he could focus on was how to keep it. How to get more of it. How to prove to Ronan that he was worth the time. As unwanted and unloveable as Adam felt, all of that seemed to evaporate when it came to Ronan.

He felt a fizzying beneath his skin when Ronan touched more of his chest, his hip, his thigh. He felt simply _desired_. It was soul-consuming. When Ronan kissed his shoulder, he knew which scar was there and waited for questions that never came.

Even still couldn’t think of anything he loved more than this moment.

When Ronan touched his dick, which had grown hard during Ronan’s attentions, he gasped and thought again. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this point i'm just getting entirely self-indulgent.
> 
> this chapter is primarily adam-centric
> 
> enjoy!!

When Adam Parrish was fifteen years old, his mother sent him to the Circle K for one carton of milk, some smokes, and a few cans of ravioli. He’d told her that he wasn’t old enough to buy the smokes but she waved her debit card at him as an answer to shut up and just go. If he had to, depending on how afraid he was of coming home without the cigarettes, he could always pay one of the homeless guys that often hung around the gas station to buy a pack for him. But of course that would mean that they’d want one in return and he knew that his father got an opened carton of cigarettes, and some were missing, Adam would pay for it in blood.

He was probably going to pay for it anyways.

The entire bike ride there, some two miles away out of the trailer park, Adam did all the mental math that he could. The lights were due on the 15th of that month. The rent was due on the first. It was the 27th, the middle of the week before his father got paid. Adam wished and prayed and hoped that there would be something left in the bank for Adam to use to come home with _something_.

Just as he laid his bike against the side of the building, clutching the plastic in his pants pocket, he remembered his father coming home with a case Yuengling Lager and a stack of Hustler Magazines. When he pulled opened the door and let the cool air chill the sweat that beaded around his neck, he willingly forgot about it.

The guy behind the counter wasn’t much older than he was. Part of his head was shaved, Adam thought he looked odd.

He emptied the plastic cart onto the counter - all basic store brand items, and waited for the guy to ring up his selections. By that time, a group of young boys who smelled like cologne and money had stood behind him. Laughing at something one of them had said, bags of chips and bottles of sodas in hand. There were three of them.

They muffled a laugh each when the cashier leaned in and whispered if Adam had another card. He didn’t. He had a feeling this guy knew it too. He looked sad for him.

Adam stood there frozen for a moment, in shame and humiliation. It burned through him like wildfire.

“Hey buddy,” one of the boys tapped his shoulder just a little bit too hard. “I don’t think they take food stamps here.”

The two other boys began laughing even harder, spit hitting the back of Adam’s neck.

So he left.

Adam hated himself for even going in there. For hoping his parents wouldn’t let him down for once. He hated his mother for sending him there for food she knew they couldn’t afford. He hated those boys for laughing at him, for reminding him that he was poor and that he was nothing. He was beneath them.

Just as he began wheeling his bike off,

“Hey man wait up!”

Adam turned and the cashier was jogging up to him, with two full plastic bags. Way more than Adam came to the counter with.

“Hey you forgot your stuff, man.”

He handed them out to Adam with a genuine smile. His bottom lip was pierced with similar rings scattered on his ears. His hair was almost white-blond, but his roots were black. All his clothes were black, including his boots. To anyone else, he would be intimidating and someone to avoid. But he was smiling.

“But my card didn’t work,” Adam said, digging his foot into the dirt, frowning and not taking the bags.

“Don’t even worry about it,”

He hung a bag on each handle and Adam let him. There was the milk and ravioli there. There was some chips and two liter of Pepsi and a few candy bars in there as well.

“You go to Mountain View?”

Adam nodded.

“Alright man, well I gotta get back, but come find me tomorrow on the track before school starts, yeah?”

Adam agreed but he didn’t know why.

When he got home, his father hit him in the jaw for being late. He hit Adam again for coming back for stuff he wasn’t asked to get, even though Adam insisted he didn’t spend any money. He was thrown down on the laminated floor for forgetting the smokes.

The cashier guy was waiting for Adam the next morning as promised, along with several other kids from grades higher. He asked where Adam got the bruises and when Adam didn’t answer, another kid that was there guessed it was his father. But that it was okay. They all had a shitty parent. That was the first time Adam had ever skipped class. Because these kids with their weird hair and weirder clothes and tattoos asked him to join them.

It was the first time Adam felt included in life, not punished for simply being alive.

They were Adam’s first real friends. They introduced him to bands he’d never heard of, with singers who died of drug overdoses and screamed about anarchy and destruction. They showed Adam how to cut up his shirts, how to make due with two dollars in a Good Will, how to let the world that he was here and that he existed with a Sharpie marker and spray paint. How to think about the reality world and not about himself.

They introduced him to a girl named Blue, even though her hair was pink. She asked Adam if she could fuck with his hair and she was so goddamn pretty he would have walked through hellfire if it earned him a smile from her.

His first kiss was to _Hong Kong Garden_ by Siouxsie and the Banshees. He and Blue had been dancing and he let her pull him down for a kiss. She tasted like bubblegum.

The first time he got drunk, he was singing _Personality Crisis_ by the New York Dolls embarrassingly bad.

When his dad beat the shit out of him so bad he could barely walk, he laid on the floor listening to _Waiting Room_ by Fugazi on repeat.

When he then forbade Adam from attending Aglionby Academy and threatened his life if he snuck behind his back to go, Blue played _Everything Sucks_ by the Descendants on the radio to make him laugh. He didn’t.

The first time he had sex, _Fools Gold_ by the Stone Roses was playing loudly in another room. He hoped it drowned out how nervous he was. Blue was totally in control, which thank god because he had no idea what they were doing. The song lasted seven minutes longer than he did.

The first time he had a panic attack, he thought of _Basket Case_ by Green Day. He mouthed over the words over and over like counting sheep until he fell asleep and didn’t move for two days.

Most of the friends he met  when he was fifteen came and left as people do. Moved away, dropped out, got arrested, joined the Army when their parents finally kicked them out. Adam came and went as well. They were all just passing through each other’s lives and that was okay. No one did permanence because nothing was. Nothing was guaranteed. Not food, money, electricity, nor happiness most of all. One day you were fine the next you were fucked, that was just how it was.

But in all that uncertainty and ill-security, there was freedom too. No one was constrained by debts, jobs they hated, a facade that forced them to be the very people that would spit on them when they were kids.

When Ronan asked Adam why liked the punk scene, this is what he told him.

 

It was Orla who greeted Ronan first when he came to the bar one night. She had the biggest shit-eating grin he’d ever seen on someone who didn’t just commit murder and was found ‘not guilty’ at the trial.

“You,” she was rushing towards him, grabbing for his wrist.

“The hell is going on?” Ronan wasn’t entirely fond of people grabbing him and being dragged through crowds of people.

“Stand right here."

She planted him right in front of the stage where she and Blue’s band frequented their angry girl punk.

Orla stood on her tiptoes, to reach Ronan’s ear to whisper: “You are going to lose every ounce of your shit.”

And then she grinned even wider and flitted away like a little fairy.

What the fuck was she talking about?

The only reason Ronan ever came to the bar was to see Adam, otherwise the loud music just gave him a headache and this many people made him uncomfortable. Dozens of people began to pack in around him as members of the band made their way on stage.

Blue and her girls never bothered with a soundcheck, which was a shame because it might have improved his sound, but what did Ronan know.

Orla took the center place of the stage and shouted into the mic. “How’s everyone doin huh?!”

Everyone began to cheer and it was loud and obnoxious and for a moment he hated Orla for riling them up. The only reason he stood there was because Adam wasn’t at the bar and it seemed a bit late to turn back.

“Now see,” her voice echoed against everything, “Our set up is gonna be a little different tonight. Our lovely Blue here _had_ to go and get strep throat.”

Blue smiled and flipped her cousin a middle finger and that made some people behind Ronan laugh.

“That being said, I’d like a drum roll and all the energy you’ve got for our temp singer for the night. Now he’s a little shy, but you all know him as the guy behind the counter-”

 _Wait_.

“Come on out baby boy!”

Girls screamed when Adam stepped out on stage. Ronan was stunned. He was normal Adam. He had all the grace and elegance of a newborn colt. But there was something strikingly different about seeing him on stage, bathed in lights.

A girl whispered behind him to her friend, “God he is so fucking hot.”

The friend replied, “I know, I would let him do anything to me."

If Ronan was sensible, he would have just let the comments roll off his shoulders knowing that Adam was his, and there was nothing to worry about. But he stood there silently boiling with rage.

That is of course until Adam got to the mic where Orla stepped away, and saw Ronan. Then it all melted because Adam smiled at him. He was biting his bottom lip and looking down but kept glancing at Ronan.

Ronan couldn’t help how quickly his heart was melting.

“So uh,” fuck and his voice sounded even sexier in the microphone, “I don’t sing very well… or often. But I owe a favor so here I am.”

The guitar tune that Blue began was very simple and nice even, Ronan was following along easily. Adam was gripping the mic stand and pointedly didn’t look at Ronan because every time he did, he was biting down a smile.

“ _Little black submarines, operator please. Put me back on the line_.”

Ronan knew his mouth was hanging open. He knew he was staring hard. Adam sang slowly and gravelly. Hints of his accent weren’t far away. The way he stood on that stage, one arm behind his back, the other holding the mic close to his mouth in an almost sexual way. His head was tilted to the side, eyes closed, singing the words one at a time.

Everything about Adam up there was sexual. The way he sang, “ _Oooh can it be! The voices calling me,_ ” Like he was practically moaning it. The way he glanced down at Ronan before licking his lips. The tug of those filthy lips when he locked eyes with Ronan and dared to not look away first.

When he started to get into the song, which Ronan noted that it had to be a cover because there was a lot less thrashing about and people around him in the crowd began to sing along, Adam began moving slowly. Not quite dancing. With each lyric his voice grew stronger, more confident.

Ronan was probably more turned on than he’d ever been before in his life.

He could see the sweat on Adam’s collarbones when he shifted and his tank top moved the right way.

With the drums slowly coming in, and the song picking up, that’s when it paused for a moment, with Adam backing away, and Blue stepping forward to shatter that silence with her guitar. And for once wasn’t obnoxious and oppressive.

The drums joined her and bass followed. Everything was loud and people all around Ronan began to bang their heads and throw their arms up. Ronan wasn’t excluded from this. It was fucking infectious.

Adam was grinning now when he grabbed the mic from off the stand and stood at the edge of the stage looking down at everyone. The lack of a barrier between the crowd and the stage put Ronan at perfect eye level with his dick- He was staring up at him and swore to God Adam had done it on purpose.

“ _Treasure maps, fallen trees, operator please. Call me back when it’s time!_ ”

He began banging his head, feeding off the energy from the crowd. He had them eating out of his hands.

Orla chimed in on the chorus and together their voices complimented each other surprisingly perfect.

“ _Oh can it be! The voices calling me! They get lost and out of time!_ ”

It didn’t take long before everyone was cheering and clapping and Adam was moving with his body all over the stage. But it was more languid and less wild and animalistic as the other singers Adam had shown Ronan. Everything about him up there seemed natural and fluid.

Orla was right though. Ronan was losing his shit.

 

Adam agreed to sing for Blue’s band truly as a favor to her, but also on the basis that he wouldn’t enjoy it. He hated being on stage, for any reason, much less singing. He wasn’t necessarily shy, but literally being put under the spotlight would make anyone uncomfortable. He didn’t think he was the best singer, but as Orla noted, not many singers in bands were.

He’d been to dozens if not hundreds of shows. Before Orla introduced him, he tried to remind himself that they were just guys who were probably high or drunk before getting on stage. There was no perfect formula. That was the beauty of their scene. No one care about perfectly manicured sets. Just get out there, sing some covers that everyone could sing along to. The girls would stop harassing him, and that would be that.

But then he saw Ronan standing there. Staring at him. It made him terrified and brave and sick all at the same time.

There was something freeing about being up there that Adam didn’t anticipate. It made him feel like he held this sort of power. He moved and sang and made it fun. He’d never thought about ever doing something like this, as he was almost entirely content to stay as far removed from the center as possible. No matter how vain and narcissistic it seemed, Adam couldn’t help but thrive on it.

And when Little Black Submarines ended, they did about four other cover songs. Popular songs by bands everyone would know and could enjoy. Some more Black Keys, the Strokes, Gang of Four. By the end, he was ready for the last song - the one he vehemently protested but learned anyways on short notice. Blue and Orla had gotten onto a kick of doing covers of pop songs. Though it wasn’t the original version of the song that he didn’t like. It was singing the words that made him feel awkward.

But all of that was before he saw Ronan staring up at him, hungrily eyeing him all over in a way that gave Adam’s goosebumps and made him sing harder and move in any way that would please Ronan more and more. The stage lights were casting the most intense shadows across his face, rendering him dangerous looking and someone Adam wanted to get naked with a soon as humanly possible.

God was this why singers had such a hard time keeping it in their pants?

This next song was faster, sexier, but Adam needed no inspiration to get in the mood for it. He worried before about stumbling over the words, but he wasn’t now. He was running on a high of pure adrenaline. Some girls recognized the song which Blue smiled at, compliments to her guitar’s imitation of the synthesizer.

“ _Working your fingers to the bone  
__Driving you mad you should have known  
__Wrap it up baby I'm taking you home  
__Get off the floor, I want you alone  
__Take just a little bit of time  
__Just to make you feel right  
__Just enough to ease vibe, hit the line_ ”

He groaned out the second half of the first verse for Ronan’s benefit but it was the girls that were screaming. Ronan wasn’t dancing as enthusiastically, he was still very awkward like that, but Adam could sense that he was into it. Or last least that’s what Adam was wishing for.

Orla was singing backing vocals again, which in truth were mostly just sexual noises. He knew there were a lot of girls who were grateful for that.

It was basically a filthy love letter, asking Ronan to have sex with him. Possibly again.

" _You've got pressure dripping off your shoulders  
__Let me be the one to relieve it  
__Lets get unprofessional dont you know  
__It's gonna feel much better with-_ ”

People started singing now, girls mostly. Ronan didn’t know the words, Adam didn’t expect him to. He felt a powerful rush whenever he stood at the edge of the stage and looked down at him. There was no buffer between the audience and the stage so Ronan was maybe a good three inches away from Adam’s crotch. And when Ronan looked directly up, Adam had to resist placing a hand on the back of Ronan’s head as if he were on his knees for Adam. Maybe later.

Towards the end of the song, Adam was a sweating out of breath mess. Blue took her solo, and he caught his breath for a second. Ronan was running a hand over his head and he broke out into a smile bigger than Adam had seen on him all night.

He just couldn’t stand it anymore. Impulse drove him back to the edge of that stage, to drop to his knees, and pull Ronan to him for a quick filthy kiss. Everyone screamed in excitement around him and it all echoed through the mic, so loud he knew his hearing would be shot soon enough. But Ronan’s fist gripped in Adam’s shirt as their lips moved sloppily against one another, he didn’t rightfully give a fuck at the moment.

The final chorus came when Adam broke apart and he was still on his knees. He sang “ _Just a little bit_ ”, over and over, totally wrecked, and face to face with Ronan. God It was perfect.

 

The next morning, well a few hours after they left the club, the sun was coming up. Adam was laying on Ronan’s shoulder. They were naked, skin cooled with dried sweat and over fluids but too tired to take care of it. Adam was delighted and almost surprised at how eager Ronan was when he got back. It almost felt territorial the way he pinned Adam’s hands above his head, the way his mouth covered over his whole body.

He shivered with pleasure remembering.

Adam turned slightly to look at Ronan who wasn’t quite awake, but looked down at Adam anyways.

“So that was a fun night?”

“You were uh,”

“I was what?”

“Fucking… _incredible_.”

Adam couldn’t help but blush now that the endorphins, adrenalines, and whatever other chemical could have possibly made Adam do the things he did last night in front of all of those people, had completely worn off. He was now agonizingly sober and clear headed. But he knew that it must have been serious for Ronan to admit that to him. Always so serious and controlled and often embarrassed by vocalizing his affections.

He buried his head in Ronan’s chest and groaned.

Ronan turned with him, bringing a blanket to cover their heads so it was just them now.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ronan whispered. “You looked really happy up there.”

Where Adam smiled at the words before, he faltered a bit now. He wanted to doubt himself. People were cheering him on, but people will cheer on anyone once they’ve had a few drinks, doesn’t matter who’s up there. Adam didn’t think he was that special, in hindsight. The high had completely worn down. When he really thought about it, he probably looked like a real idiot up there.

"I was okay I guess," he had gotten good over the years at self-deprecation.

"Don't be stupid, you're a natural."

Adam felt exposed, too open. He'd always been better at giving his affection away than accepting it. Often times it was just empty words said at three am when the other person just needed a place to sleep for the night. Other times it had been a bandage over too many cuts and bruises, to soothe the aches and pains inflicted by the same person who caused them; to deflect from the cruelty they were sure to go back to. Ronan's words were real and too honest. Adam came to understand that his soft words of praise and affection didn't come free and frivolously, because they'd been used against him too. It felt as though Adam had been given a live bomb to hold, and he wasn't experienced enough.

He needed to change the subject and fast before he ruined this somehow.

“Thank loser,” he pecked Ronan’s nose, then his cheek bone. “But enough about that. What’s going on with the company, did they decide what show you’re doing this year?”

Ronan scrunched his face up as if he was about to tell Adam the worst news of his life.

“Yeah I’m the uh, lead Swan in Swan Lake. Matthew Bourne’s, not Tchaikovsky’s.”

“What’s the difference?”

Ronan rolled onto his back and cleared his throat a little. He began lightly scratching his nails over Adam’s shoulder form where Adam laid on his arm. He noticed that Ronan only did this when he was nervous.

“Well uh,” Ronan mumbled, “Bourne’s is the homoerotic one.”

Adam’s eyes widened a little. A homoerotic Swan Lake. Huh. Ronan’s jaw was clenching.

“So can still I call you Odette, or..”

“Shut up.”

Adam rolled onto this stomach, pulling the blanket down so he could see Ronan in the morning light. His braced himself over Ronan’s chest as Ronan’s arm hugged him closer.

In a flash, warm as summer heat, Adam felt a burn in his chest. He’d never felt so comfortable and simply domesticated with anyone in his life. He’d spent so many years being pushed around and away, that being held close should have felt like a strange, foreign thing. But the simple rightness of it settled the nerves in the back of his head that told him that he was unwanted.

“I’m really proud of you, Ronan,” Adam said, nuzzling his cheek into the hard muscle of Ronan’s chest. “You’re gonna be fuckin' awesome.”

It took a moment to let the words sink in, but finally Ronan smiled. A small, self conscious, shy thing, as if the compliment was undeserving. It seemed as though Adam wasn’t the only one wrestling with something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I've talked about this in any other chapter, but most of my reasoning behind making Adam a punk, was not just because I want to see him dressed in the fashion. Punk culture is one of those things that grab youths at young fragile ages, I definitely wasn't immune when I was a kid. When you're poor and lonely and weird, when you find that group of people that are just like you and welcome you, of course it makes it so easy to get into that scene. And that was essentially the case for Adam - given all his circumstances, my idea of his characterization (and Ronan's as well) was more of a "what if", if certain circumstances of his life were altered. Like if Adam's father didn't let him go to Aglionby, if someone else became friend's with him first. And given how much that episode in the store did effect Adam, I wanted to see how it would have changed him if someone stepped in for him instead of him looking back and feeling humiliation. 
> 
> And well Adam being on stage and virtually seducing Ronan and singing like Dan Auerbach is purely just me needing this for my life. I have so few joys in my life, allow me this.
> 
> Also I'm hoping that the next chapter will get back to Ronan and his ballet, now that's he's gonna be the Lead Swan, which I swear was my entire motive for writing this fic, was for Ronan to perform Swan Lake.

**Author's Note:**

> (come say hey @[me](merovingiens.tumblr.com))


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